


The Planets Bend Between Us

by red_b_rackham



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Supernatural
Genre: (I am so sorry), (kinda), (no but really), (no really), (seriously so sorry), AU, AU Challenge, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Azazel has a lot of rage issues, Bela is an A+ Babe, Big Bang Challenge, Blatant Ship Fulfillment, Community: het_bigbang, F/M, Fusion, Graphic Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Moderate language, No Slash, Seasons 1-5 Character Knowledge, Three Movies In One, Typical Canon Violence, Typical Fandom Violence, moderate swearing, multiple character death, novel length fic, scifi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 117,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Star Wars AU) Sam Harvelle is stuck on the desert planet of Tatooine until a fateful event causes him to tangle with the Galactic Empire, and he finds himself mixed up with Jedi Knights, smugglers, rebels, and Siths in a an epic fight for freedom in the galaxy. </p><p>Or: Dean and Bela are Han and Leia, but not how you think, and Sam is pretty much Luke, in something that is a mish-mash of the old trilogy of Star Wars with various other SPN characters involved in the AU thing you didn’t know you needed until now. (For Het Big Bang 2015.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have _a lot_ to say so I'm going to break it over a few chapters so I don't overwhelm you. ;)
> 
> Major thank yous to [The Beta Branch](thebetabranch.prophpbb.com/) and the hard-working tropical sunfishes who helped me with a good portion of this ( _you know who you are_ )! Also, major thanks to my glorious, clever meerkat [trishajennreads](http://trishajennreads.com/) who took a pass at this as practice for her blooming professional editing business and provided me with incredibly valuable feedback. <3 (P.S. You should hire her, she’s awesome.) 
> 
> Thank you to emmatheslayer for your hard work on the [lovely artwork!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4550256) :)

Dean Winchester crashed to his knees as the ship rocked with the force of another explosion. At this rate it wasn’t going to be long before they were blown out of the damn sky. He scrambled to his feet, snatching up his blaster which had tumbled from his fingers.

 _Imperial assholes_ , he thought angrily. He swiped at the blood running down his cheek from a shallow cut beside his eye.

Alarms pounded against his ears as he joined a fellow crew member in the adjoining corridor. The ship shook with the impact of another blast; it was old and not built to take this kind of heavy fire.

“We’re not outrunning them this time!” Pete shouted over the din. “They’re trying to take us out!”

“No, they’re just trying to slow us down,” Dean corrected, then snapped, “But why the hell don’t they board us already?”

He’d spent enough time over the years tangling with the Imperials to know their protocol. They were here for him. He had a copy of stolen blueprints for the Empire’s newest and deadliest toy, the Death Star, in his possession and they wanted it back.

Somewhere overhead, the ship was pelted with another round of fire from the Imperial cruiser bearing down on them. The impact threw Dean sideways. He shook the sparks from his vision as Pete wrenched him to his feet.

There was a loud groan of metal, followed by heavy clanking. The color drained from Pete’s face.

“Be careful what you wish for, mate,” he said and swallowed thickly.

Dean swore under his breath. He hadn’t lost six months and several good men to have these plans taken away before the Rebel Alliance could make proper use of them. There was no way in hell he was letting the Imperials have them.

“What should we do?” asked Pete.

Dean frowned. “Slow _them_ down.”

He took off at hard run, leaving Pete behind to run to battle stations with the rest of the crew who’d survived the initial barrage.

Dean flew down corridor after corridor, thinking fast. If the Imperials found the plans, he was dead – everyone on the ship would be dead. The last six months of operations and infiltration missions would mean nothing. The Rebels would lose the one and only advantage they had _finally_ gained against the oppressive Empire.

He had to hide them. But hiding them on the ship seemed just as bad as keeping them on his person. The ship would be thoroughly searched, the plans found, and Dean was back to where he started: dead as an Urusai’s lunch.

He rounded a corner and stumbled over debris, coming face to face with the escape pod area. Gulping air, Dean swept his eyes around the room. They landed on the remaining capsule. He could climb in, get away… but once again, he knew how those damn Imperials operated: any boat with a life form in it escaping the ship would be destroyed immediately. They wouldn’t risk survivors and witnesses – they had to be captured, or killed. Controlled.

Dean slipped the precious disk out of his vest with shaking hands.

 _But what if the pod is empty?_ he thought. _Or seems to be?_

The last thing he wanted to do was trust the fate of the Rebel Alliance to whoever discovered the pod, the disc, and the message contained on it. But what choice did he have? Keeping the disc was suicide; getting into the pod was suicide. If he kept it, everything would be lost. At least this way there was a chance _._

Frankly, he’d gambled on less in the past.

In the distance, he heard a massive crash followed by blaster shots and screams. The Imperials had arrived. Dean was out of time.

He kissed the disc and climbed into the pod, stashing it tight between some panels. He slid out and shut the hatch. He closed his eyes, sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, and slapped the button to commence the ejection sequence.

 

~

 

Sam Harvelle readjusted his thick Vrex’ti-hide gloves before he tossed another chunk of scrap metal into the bin nearby. Tatooine’s twin suns beat down against Sam’s back as he worked another piece free from the sand. He was sweating heavily, more from the physical exertion of unearthing scrap all day rather than the heat itself. After twenty-six years, he was pretty used to it.

The bin attached to his land speeder was only half full, but it was a solid haul. Most days he didn’t recover anything to take back to the homestead he shared with his adoptive mother, Ellen. Between the Jawas, sand people, and their “neighbor” Roy on the homestead fifty-six kilometers east, finding junk that hadn’t already been scooped up was a tough job indeed.

Whatever Sam did manage to find, however, he would bring back to the shop where he and Ellen would clean it up and sell it for whatever they could get. Running the shop helped offset some of the cost that came from the small moisture farm they also worked.

Sam closed the hatch on the bin and hopped into the driver’s seat of his speeder. He careened over the sand with practiced ease, driving far faster than Ellen liked (but he couldn’t help it – he liked the speed, and besides, he knew every inch of this dusty, hot rock. He could drive it with his eyes shut. Had once, with his sister Jo, just for kicks to see if he could, though neither of them had ever told Ellen about it).

He pulled up outside the modest homestead, sandstorm beaten to a rough beige color. To the left of the home stood the shop, a separate building attached to the dome-shaped house, with a large fenced off area full of miscellaneous scraps and parts. He spotted Ellen sorting through yesterday’s haul under the canvas tent and made his way over.

“Find anything good?” she asked as he ducked under the tent’s roof to join her in the shade.

“More old satellite pieces mostly,” Sam reported with a sigh.

Ellen frowned and shook her head. “The Empire should start paying _us_ to keep unearthing all their damn fallen satellites. With the amount of space junk that falls around here, you’d think they would by now.”

Sam chuckled at the bitterness in her tone. “They don’t care about us out here in the Rim.”

Ellen tossed a fried panel cover onto the melt pile with unnecessary force. “That is obvious.”

Sam bit his lip, then said, “You know, we could do something about it. _I_ could.”

“Sam, don’t start,” his mother warned.

“I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re saying, and I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Mom…”

“Sam,” Ellen began, but before she continued with her usual lecture about _not getting involved_ – which was rich coming from her, a war vet, Sam thought – there was a far-off _boom._ The pair of them hurried from the tent, macrobinoculars in hand.

In the distance was a trail of smoke leading down behind the sandy horizon. Sam focused his binoculars but the dunes obscured whatever had landed.

“Probably another damn satellite,” Ellen remarked.

“I got it,” said Sam and headed for his speeder.

“Leave this one, Sam,” Ellen shook her head. “God knows we have enough satellite parts to build our own army of ‘em at this point.”

“We can always use more guidance consoles and wiring, though,” Sam countered. “Besides, if I don’t beat the Jawas, there’ll be nothing useful left.”

Ellen pressed her lips together in a thin line before giving her son a nod. “Watch your back for the Tuskens. It’s getting on in the day, and they’ve been getting bolder.”

“I will,” Sam assured her and geared up his speeder.

 

~

 

Dean didn’t bother to struggle against the binding cuffs that held his wrists fast. He was surrounded on all sides by Stormtroopers dragging him to the front of the ship. He was a little surprised that they hadn’t killed him on sight. Especially after he’d emptied his blaster into several of them – he hadn’t planned on being captured, but supposed it was an acceptable alternative to being target practice for the troops.

As they marched, Dean forced his eyes to stay on the shining white armor of the uniformed man in front of him and not on the dead bodies of his crew members lining the corridor. He ignored the tightness in his chest.

The Imperial troops herded their prisoner into the ship’s main control room. The consoles were still sparking and smoking from the attack. Standing in the center of the room was a man dressed all in black. He turned when the soldier at the front of the pack reported they’d located a living passenger.

“Of course it’s you,” the man grinned.

It was the type of unsettling grin that sent unpleasant chills spiralling down Dean’s spine. Worse were the man’s eyes: piercing, eerie yellow eyes. Dean had been thrown when he’d first encountered the man several years ago – he’d seen far weirder things, far more alien, but there was just something about those eyes that threw every instinct Dean had into overdrive.

“Azazel,” Dean greeted flatly.

The man’s lip curled with irritation. “ _Darth_ Azazel.”

Dean smirked. “Right. The whole Sith thing. I always forget.”

Darth Azazel straightened, smoothly erasing any signs of annoyance. Dean tried not to feel too satisfied – after so many years of run-ins with the Imperial lord, he’d learned how to get under his skin, if only a tiny bit.

“Where are my plans?” the Sith asked blandly and stepped forward.

“What plans?” Dean countered without missing a beat.

“Let’s not do this dance today, Winchester, I don’t have time for it. The plans your little friends stole, the plans they beamed here, the plans you have clearly hidden. I want them back.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t have any plans.” He stared Azazel down, right in those unsettling yellow eyes. For once, he was actually telling the truth: he didn’t have the plans.

Darth Azazel held Dean’s gaze for a moment, angry and challenging, before nodding. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”

He held out his hand towards Dean, almost as if offering to shake. Then Dean felt a horrible tightness close around his throat, cutting his air supply. He struggled against the unseen force crushing his windpipe, bringing his cuffed hands to his neck though he knew from experience there was nothing he could do. Darth Azazel’s lips widened into a sadistic smile and he curled his fingers in. The pressure on Dean’s throat increased. He opened and closed his mouth pathetically, clawing uselessly at his neck, as black spots began to cloud his vision –

 _So this is how I die_ , he thought. It wasn’t unexpected.

Then the pressure was gone, and Dean collapsed to his knees, gasps harsh and ragged.

“Remember where they are now?” Darth Azazel growled.

The rebel glared up at the other man. “I’m… on a diplomatic mission,” he panted. “I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s not gonna fly this time, you little shit,” Darth Azazel said savagely. “You can’t hide behind the Senate, and you can’t hide behind Mommy and Daddy either. Seeing as how they’re _dead_ and all.”

Dean leapt to his feet, desperate to shred Azazel apart, but the troopers held him back. Azazel laughed, loud and scraping like gravel shifting under foot. The Sith lord knew what pressure points to push on Dean too, especially when he was the one responsible for the attack that had killed Dean’s parents.

“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you,” Darth Azazel shook his head, an amused and taunting smile turning up his lips. He gave a sharp nod to the troops. “Take him away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just say I have _a lot_ of anxiety about _a lot_ of this and basically I hope _literally anyone_ appreciates the effort I went to here. XD Thank you for reading, and any and all feedback greatly appreciated. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let me just say that once upon a time, this was supposed to be a oneshot for the AU challenge on Beta Branch. Hah. Oops. 
> 
> For this fic, character knowledge for seasons 1-5 probably necessary. After that, it’s helpful so you catch the cameos but not necessary.

Sam arrived at the smoking pile expecting more space junk and was surprised to discover it was in fact a banged up escape pod. More surprising, was that it appeared to be empty.

He climbed out of his speeder and pulled out his scanner, but it showed no bio signals within the pod. Curious and a little wary, he retrieved his tool box from the passenger seat of his vehicle and cracked open the pod. Sure enough, it was as void of life as his scanner had reported.

Sam scrunched his eyebrows together. “Huh,” he shrugged.

It wasn’t the first time he’d found an abandoned pod, though it was a rare occurrence. Not many ships came this far out (who would want to come here _on purpose_?).

Sam judged the pod to be from a Corvette class ship, possibly a CR70 or later CR90 – with the missing panels caused by its rough landing, it was hard to tell. Either way, the pieces that made the whole were worth some solid credits, so Sam wasted no time tearing it apart.

He crawled inside and began dismantling the control console, pleased to see most of the wiring intact. He raided the compartments for medpacs, rations, and survival gear before moving onto the interior shielding and panels. He tossed the smaller items he discovered into a canvas bag. The larger pieces he hauled out and tossed into the bin attached to his speeder.

Sam had been working on the pod for a solid half hour when he heard Bantha calls in the distance. He slung his bag over his shoulder and exited the pod. Sure enough, far to the north he could see a Bantha cresting the sand dunes.

To make matters worse, as Sam threw the last pieces he could get his hands on into his bin, he spotted a Jawa sandcrawler far to the east. Sam cast one mournful glance back at the pod – there were still so many good, salvageable pieces and parts to be had – before securing the hatch on his bin and hopping into his speeder. Parts or no parts, he had no desire to tangle with the sand people. He especially didn’t want to be in caught in the middle of Tuskens and Jawas fighting over the same prize.

He started up his speeder and flattened the accelerator, kicking up sand and blazing a trail home.

 

~

 

Sam arrived back at the homestead close to dinner time. He parked his speeder, scooped up his bag, and headed inside – he would sort that afternoon’s haul later. He dropped his bag off in his room and went to the eating area where Ellen had the table set for two. The hot, spicy smell of cooking wafted through the room.

“So? Satellite?” she inquired, bringing in a pot of steaming, delicious-smelling soup.

“No, an old corvette pod, actually,” Sam replied and spooned the creamy soup into Ellen’s bowl while she fetched drinks.

“Really?” Ellen raised her eyebrows in surprise, setting the cups and jug of water down on the table. “That’s somethin’. Was it in good shape?”

“Solid,” her adopted son nodded and filled up his own bowl. “I couldn’t get as much as I wanted, though. Sand people _and_ Jawas were closing in to get a piece of it too.”

Ellen _hmm_ ed and took her seat at the table. The pair mumbled a quick grace before digging in.

For a short while, they ate in comfortable and familiar silence. Sam blew on his soup to cool it, appreciating not for the first time his mother’s skills in the kitchen. Even when they went through a rough patch and were low on rations, fresh food, and foodpacs, she still managed to make their meals filling and tasty.

Sam was reluctant to break the quiet.

“Mom, I know you didn’t want to talk about it earlier,” he said gently and immediately saw the tension in her shoulders and jaw. “But I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Sam, don’t.”

“Please hear me out,” Sam pressed.

“I don’t need to hear you out, because we’ve had this conversation a million and one times, and nothing’s changed.”

Sam dropped his spoon with a clatter. “You’re right, it hasn’t _._ I’m still stuck here, while everyone else is out there, _doing_ something! Making a difference!”

“What sort of difference do you think you can really make, huh? You go join up with those damn Rebels, and I guarantee, all you’re going to do is get yourself killed.” Ellen pinned him with her brown-eyed stare. “Sam, you’re all I have now.”

“Jo’s not dead.”

“Hell if I know,” Ellen snapped, turning away with the shake of her head. “The last comm I got was over two months ago, from God knows where, and she was all bruised up, doing God knows what…”

“I don’t…” Sam tried, but the emotion in his mother’s voice stopped him.

Truth was, he _didn’t_ know for a fact that Jo wasn’t dead, that she hadn’t been killed in some skirmish between the Rebels and the Imperials. He just believed it because he knew Jo, and she simply couldn’t be dead. She was his sister, if not by blood, by everything else. If she hadn’t sent a comm, there was damn good reason, he was sure of it.

(He ignored that cold, wiggling worm of doubt in his stomach that whispered otherwise.)

“I can’t stay here forever,” he finally said quietly. “I can’t… be stuck on this desert rock, at the ass-end of the universe selling space junk. I just… _can’t_.”

Sam couldn’t bear to look at Ellen, so he rose from the table and retreated from the eating area. They’d had this argument so many times that nothing about it was new, but it always killed him to see how stung she was that he wanted to leave so badly. He supposed that was why he was still here. He couldn’t stand the idea of breaking her heart like Jo did three years ago.

And suppose Jo _was_ dead? Suppose he ran off and got himself killed too? Sam couldn’t stomach the idea of Ellen losing both her children like that. It was one thing for them to leave and someday come back; it was another to disappear from her life forever.

He didn’t want to resent her, but he was tired. Tired of the argument, tired of watching everyone he knew leave for bigger and better things. All of his school friends had gone, the neighbor kids he’d grown up around, his buddies at the market, Jo… eventually they all moved on and escaped Tatooine, and left Sam behind.

He understood where she was coming from, he did. She had fought in a galactic war and, for her, the only logical thing to do when it was over was to settle down somewhere quiet and far away to enjoy peace. He got why she needed to stay here, why she had so desperately _needed_ Jo to stay, and why she was fighting him so hard on the same issue.

But he wasn’t her. He didn’t fight in the Clone Wars. He would never be content to stay here. He couldn’t be stuck on this rock, wasting his life like this – it wasn’t in him to settle the same way she had. Not when he could be helping the Rebels fight against the tyrannical Empire. He didn’t understand why she couldn’t see his side.

Sam gave his bed a kick and dropped onto it with a heavy sigh. He raked his fingers through his shaggy hair and decided to put the argument out of his mind for now. For something to do, he tugged over his canvas bag that held the small, loose parts he’d retrieved from the pod earlier and began sifting through them. When he’d been raiding the pod, he’d grabbed and stashed and had barely taken stock of what he was taking. Now was as a good a time as any to take a closer look.

He spread the pieces out over his bed: wires and cables of various colors and lengths, some small navigation panel pieces, spare console bulbs… Towards the bottom of the bag, he found a slim black disc. Curious, he crossed his bedroom to his reader and popped the disc in. Instantly, a blue-tinted opaque hologram flickered to life over the reader.

It was a handsome man with dark blond hair, wearing black pants, shirt, and a vest. He had a bloody gash beside his eye and checked over his shoulder before he spoke, as if worried someone was coming for him.

“ _This message is for Bobby Singer,”_ the man said, his voice deep. He ran his hand through his hair and stared ahead grimly. _“God, I hope this gets to you. I’m in deep shit with those Imp_ – _”_

The message flickered and crackled like an ancient television, losing sound and picture for a moment. There was some strange, fuzzy but loud background noise, and then the hologram fixed itself just in time for what sounded like the end of the message.

_“Please help us, Bobby. You’re… uh, kinda my only hope right now.”_

This time the noise was distinctly an explosion. The man in the hologram covered his head with arms and the image shook violently before going dead.

Sam stared at the spot where the hologram had been for a full minute. _What the hell?_ He blinked and replayed the message, hoping that whatever glitch had occurred the first time round had worked itself out, but it looked like the file itself was corrupted. The rest of the message disappeared in a wavering, unclear mess again. And the third time and the fourth time.

Sam tried to run the recording through his computer system to clean it up, but nothing seemed to help. Frustrated, he sat back with a huff. Who was this guy? Why had he stashed his message in an empty escape pod? Who was Bobby Singer?

Sam coincidentally knew of _a_ Bobby, but he doubted it was the same person. It sounded like this Bobby Singer, whoever he was, was possibly connected to the Rebels or Imperials and the man in the message. The Bobby Sam knew of was a crazy old hermit who lived out past the Dune Sea – damn far – through Tusken territory. You had to be crazy to live way out there. Plus, wasn’t Bobby’s last name Deacon or Dixon or something? He couldn’t recall.

Sam frowned and scooped up the disc.

“Hey, Mom?” he called out.

“Out here, Sam!”

He followed the sound of her voice through the corridor that attached the shop to the homestead. Ellen was behind the counter doing inventory, an old pencil behind her ear. Sam couldn’t help smiling at the sight – she always liked old fashioned things, even with technology available if she wanted it. The image of her bent over the wooden parts-and-paper-covered counter, her long brown hair tossed to one side and dusting across the pieces, was familiar and welcome.

He felt guilty all over again for their disagreement and swallowed hard.

He stopped in the doorway, watching her for a moment, etching the image of her in his mind like he’d done a hundred times over the years. He couldn’t explain why he loved seeing her like that, but he did deeply. The twin sunsets poured through the window at her back, casting the shop in glowing gold and orange.

“What is it?” Ellen finally asked, looking up from her work. She caught the expression on his face and smirked a little. “What, Sam?”

“Nothing.” He chuckled and joined her at the counter, at once becoming more serious. “Mom… I’m sorry about earlier.”

She removed the pencil from behind her, setting it on the counter and pulled Sam into a quick hug. “Me too, honey.”

When they separated, Sam set the disc he’d found on the counter. “Found this in the pod.”

“What’s on it?” Ellen queried, picking it up gingerly to inspect it.

“A weird message,” said Sam. “There’s this guy, and I think he’s in trouble with the Imperials. He says the message is for Bobby Singer, and then it kinda cuts out.”

A flash of shock crossed Ellen’s features. Though she rearranged her expression to one of mild interest almost instantly, Sam hadn’t missed her reaction. His mother was good, but not good enough.

“You know him,” he said – a statement, not a question.

She avoided his gaze. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Mom, you know who this Bobby Singer is – I saw it on your face. Who is he? How do you know him?”

It took her a solid minute before she answered quietly, “I know him.”

It was clear she had no desire to continue, but Sam couldn’t help himself.

“Who is he?” he pressed.

Ellen sighed, and again she struggled before speaking. “We fought in the Clone Wars together.”

Sam felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. He didn’t know much about his mother’s time in the war, but he did know that she’d fought side by side with his father. She’d told him that shortly after his parents were married, they were killed in action. Ellen was the closest friend they’d had. She couldn’t leave Sam as an orphan, so she took him and raised him as her own son alongside her natural born daughter, Jo.

So if this Bobby Singer had fought with Ellen, then he’d surely fought alongside his father…

“Did he know my dad?” Sam asked, heart racing.

She hesitated. “Yes.”

Sam knew little about his birth parents, as it too had always been a touchy subject with Ellen. She’d told him the basics about them, sure – names, they were close friends, they died – but little else. Sam had always wondered about them, but he didn’t push her.

He’d never really had much of a steady father figure in his life and figured that was why his curiosity about his birth father had always been especially strong. He needed to find this Bobby Singer anyways to get him this disc, but now Sam felt he had even more reason: this man had known his father and probably very well.

“You know him too,” Ellen added, almost as a throwaway afterthought she hadn’t meant to say out loud.

“I do?”

She bit her lip and he could see regret cloud her expression, but the damage was done.

“Mom, please, I have to get him this message, it’s important – wait, is Bobby _Bobby_?” Sam stared at his mother incredulously. “Is weird old Dune Sea Bobby the same Bobby as the one who fought with you and Dad?”

Ellen didn’t answer but she didn’t have to – the emotion in her eyes said it all. Swirls of regret, guilt, nostalgia, fear, and so much more he couldn’t identify.

Sam stepped away from the table, his knees feeling a bit rubbery all of the sudden. “I've spent my whole life thinking that you were the only connection I had to my parents – to my father – and now you’re telling me that one of the biggest connections I could ever have outside of you, is _here_. And you nevertold me.”

He felt betrayed. She’d kept this secret from him all this time, knowing how desperately he wanted to learn more about his family. Sam hadn’t gone looking for connections to his parents because he needed to be here with Ellen and Jo (and thought they were all he had anyway). He’d always thought in the back of his mind that someday his mother would open up and tell him stories, details, background, anything he wanted to know. He never considered she was purposely keeping him from learning the truth.

“You don’t understand,” Ellen pushed her hair away from her face, looking a decade older than she had that morning. “Honey, it’s complicated.”

“I don’t see how it’s complicated at all, actually,” Sam retorted. He snatched the disc from the wooden counter. “I’m taking this to Bobby and I’m gonna ask him the questions you refuse to answer.”

“You can’t, Sam, he lives out past the Dune Sea, for God’s sake! You know that area is absolutely _swarming_ with sand people.”

“I’m going.”

“It’s nearly nightfall.”

“I’m _going_.”

Ellen reached for Sam and he pulled away sharply, unable to look at her.

“Sam, please – ”

“You know how much I want to know about my dad!” he shouted, tears prickling his eyes. “You _know_! Is that why you told me Bobby was crazy? Why you always made us stay away from him when we saw him in the market? He used to visit us when we were kids – I wondered why he stopped coming around.”

“It’s complicated, Sam!”

“Then explain it, Mom! Explain to me why you’re trying so damn hard to just… _keep_ me here, exactly how you want me, and not letting me…” Sam trailed off, too angry to finish a thought. He paced up and down the shop. “C’mon, go ahead. Explain.”

Ellen opened her mouth but couldn’t force the words past her lips. She reached for him again, but he shook her off and headed for the door.

“Leave me the hell alone.”

“Sam… _Sam_!”

He sped past the living area and burst out the door. The heat of the day had yet to wear off; the air hot and dry as it brushed across his face. The suns had almost set completely below the horizon.

Sam swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, still clutching the disc tight in his other hand. He wished he could properly articulate why he felt so betrayed by his mother. Just knowing Bobby had been right here all along and she’d never said a damn word…

Ellen didn’t come after him and he was grateful for that. It gave him time to cool down. He watched the suns until they were gone and the sky had faded to a deep, navy blue. Despite his earlier declaration that he was going to see Bobby at once, he wasn’t reckless enough to actually go charging off to the Dune Sea this late in the day.

He was, however, going to rush off first thing in the morning, no matter what his mother said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soundtrack for this fic is: _Star Wars A New Hope_ score + _Empire Strikes Back_ score + a crapton of 80's rock (ELO, Kansas, AC/DC, Creedance Clearwater Revival, Rush, Heart, Boston, Duran Duran, Loverboy, Foreigner, Styx...) on shuffle. ;)

Sam was still angry with his mother when he woke. He rose early, grabbed his bag and the disc, and headed outside to his speeder. He didn’t go near the kitchen where he figured Ellen was making breakfast, judging by the greasy smell permeating the halls. He started up his speeder and took off. In the swirl of sand in his rear-view mirror, he caught a glimpse of Ellen hurrying out of the homestead calling after him, and then she was obscured by dust.

Sam drove faster.

The drive was long and Sam let himself get lost in the feeling of it. Of manipulating his speeder over and around the dunes, slicing by canyons and rocky outcroppings closer than most people would dare. Jo had always said he was insane for driving the way he did, but Sam had just always found that kind of maneuvering effortless – and really, _really_ fun.

As Sam was enjoying the feeling of his hair whipping in the warm air blasting past him, his speeder shuddered and coughed. He took his foot off the accelerator, frowning in dismay. He worried something was genuinely wrong with his trusty speeder as it slowed to a sputtering halt. His eyes landed on the fuel gauge, blinking a very unpleasant “empty” signal.

Sam cursed himself for his stupidity. After all the hauling he’d done the day before, all the way out to the pod and back and now this, of course he was low on fuel. He tried to coax the speeder to go a little farther on fumes, but it jolted to a complete stop and stubbornly refused to turn back on.

Checking his map, Sam didn’t think he had too much farther to Bobby’s. He could definitely walk it. The problem, of course, was that he was stopped dead in the middle of Tusken Raider territory. ‘Dead’ being the operative word if he didn’t get the hell out of there. He scooped up his bag, patted his pocket to ensure the disc was still on him, and retrieved a long stave from the back of his speeder. It wasn’t much of weapon, but he didn’t own a working blaster. He’d made do with the stave before.  
  
Of course, that had been against just _two_ Tuskens. Sam trekked for maybe ten minutes across the rocky valley floor when he was abruptly surrounded by at least six or seven Raiders. He swore creatively, whirled on the spot, and tried to decide what to do next.  
  
He didn’t have time to form much of a plan. Two Tuskens howled and attacked. Sam dodged and ducked to the side, bringing his stave up to meet the club of the first Tusken. The second one came in close, howling and grunting, and took a wild swing at Sam’s head with the crude wooden weapon in its hands.  
  
Sam managed to scoot out of the way, but then a third Raider joined the fray, waving its club in a wide arc over its head while the others cheered it on. With three-on-one odds, Sam didn’t last very long.

The trio of sand people came at him from all sides. Sam attempted to roll out of the way, only to get a heavy boot in the gut. Several harsh hits from all three Tusken clubs bombarded him. Sam covered his head with his arms as the clubs rained down more blows. He struggled to get away and then one of the clubs smashed into the side of his head.  
  
He had no time to think, no time to react as another club came barrelling down and collided with his shoulder, his knee, his chest. Sam cried out – the remaining Raiders were closing in, he was going to be clubbed to death in the desert...  
  
A loud wail sounded from somewhere Sam couldn’t see. The Tuskens ceased their pounding and hollering and looked up as one to the source of the sound. There was a second strange wail and the Raiders took off, terrified and whimpering.  
  
Sam blinked against the spots in his vision. He hoped whatever had frightened off the sand people wasn’t interested in him because if it was, he was pretty sure he couldn’t get away right now. He struggled to sit up, and that’s when he spotted a figure dressed in a plain, hooded brown cloak tromping towards him over the rocks and sand. Sam briefly considered fighting whoever it was, but his stave was too far away, and besides, he had a sneaking suspicion this stranger had just saved his life.  
  
“You all right?” asked the figure as he approached, his gritty voice colored with a slight accent.  
  
Sam touched his head where the worst blow had hit but his fingers didn’t come back bloody, thankfully. Still hurt like hell though and he was definitely going to have a lot of bruises.  
  
“I think so,” he mumbled.  
  
The stranger held out his hand to help Sam get to unsteady feet. Sam clutched his spinning head for a moment while the man removed his hood. Beneath the cloak was an older man sporting a beat-up blue and white baseball cap. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties, with graying hair and a beard to match. Even though it had to be going on nearly twenty years since Sam had last seen him, he recognized the man immediately.  
  
“Bobby!” Sam grinned in surprise.  
  
“Yeah, it’s me, and we can catch up later,” said Bobby, glancing over his shoulder. “We need to hightail it before those bastards come back. They’re easy to scare once, but they’ll be back real quick with friends.”  
  
Sam nodded and followed the older man at a rapid pace across the rocky terrain to Bobby’s small, rusting land speeder. Sam bit back the comments he wanted to make about the speeder’s condition – and he thought _his_ speeder was a little worse for the wear – especially when Bobby had to try more than a few times to get the thing to gear up and go. A couple minutes later, they were off, leaving behind Bantha calls and Tusken yowls in the distance.

 

~

 

Once they made it safely to Bobby’s homestead, Sam let himself mourn the loss of his canvas bag and his stave. He’d lost track of both in the melee with the Raiders, and based on how the Raiders scavenged, he knew his things were long gone. He had little hope that his speeder would be in one piece when he made it back to it with some fuel.  
  
Sam belatedly remembered his whole purpose in coming to Bobby’s in the first place. He frantically checked his pockets, praying the disc was still there and had survived his run-in with the sand people.  
  
“What is it?” asked Bobby, his eyebrows scrunching in concern.  
  
Sam exhaled as he slid the disc from his pocket... then promptly swore when he realized the disc was cracked.  
  
“It’s the reason why I came looking for you,” said Sam. He sighed. “Which might have been all for nothing.”  
  
Bobby gently took the damaged disc from Sam and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely. “If the core’s intact, we might be to get something from it. Sit tight.”  
  
Sam settled onto the cushy rust-colored couch while Bobby retrieved tools to fiddle with the disc. Bobby’s home was pleasantly cool, mostly faded whites and browns, with an eclectic collection of bizarre artefacts scattered around for decor. There was a holopicture of Sam’s birth parents situated on a shelf beside a picture of Ellen and Bobby, and Sam took a closer look.

The picture of his parents was the same picture Ellen had given him as a child, which Sam had tacked up on his bedroom wall. His father, John, was handsome with dark hair, a salt-and-pepper beard, and twinkling brown eyes. He was beaming at Sam’s mother, Mary, who was dressed in a flowing blue outfit that accentuated her blue-grey eyes. Her long blonde hair was tucked away in a neat braid and she was grinning back at John. Sam loved how incandescently happy they looked in that moment in time and always wondered what was happening when the picture was taken.

Lining one side of Bobby’s main living area was a massive collection of old books. He knew they were old not only by the worn look of them, but because he hadn’t seen this many books since a trip to the museum archives with his school class when he was eight or nine years old. It was a beautiful and impressive collection. Sam couldn’t help wondering how Bobby had come by it; books were rare and expensive.  
  
Bobby pulled the disc apart and brought a small silver chip across the room. He popped it into one of several readers he had stacked on a shabby desk in the corner.  
  
“Any idea what was on this thing?” Bobby asked over his shoulder.  
  
Sam shrugged. “A message for you, but it was corrupt. There was only a short piece that would play before it fuzzed out.”  
  
A blue-tinted hologram sprang to life over the reader, depicting the same man Sam had seen earlier.  
  
“This it?”

“That’s him,” Sam confirmed and hopped up from the couch to join Bobby by the desk. The man in the hologram began to deliver his message just as before in Sam’s bedroom, except this time it didn’t cut out.  
  
_“This message is for Bobby Singer,”_ the man said. He raked his fingers through his hair. _“God, I hope this gets to you. I’m in deep shit with those Imperial assholes again. They’re running us down and I’m not gonna be able to get this message out to anyone else without them intercepting it.”_  
  
An explosion somewhere on the man’s ship momentarily rocked the image. When he continued, his voice was more urgent than before and he rushed through his words.  
  
_“I’m not going to make it to Alderaan and it’s important that the stuff on this disc gets into the hands of the Alliance there. Bobby, if this is you, you’ll know how to get it there and how to get the information off the disc – I still use the codes my father set up with you during the Clone Wars. If I can’t hand deliver this, hopefully you can.”_  
  
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair again, looking terribly grim and desperate.  
  
_“And if this isn’t Bobby, then I sure as hell hope that you have the good sense to get this to him – last known address: middle of nowhere, Tatooine. Good luck.”_  
  
The image was briefly muffled by another explosion before the man came back one more time.

_“Please help us, Bobby. You’re… uh, kinda my only hope right now.”_

One final explosion had the man ducking for cover and then the hologram flickered out. Bobby rocked back on his heels a little and sat down heavily, his face a blender of emotion.  
  
Sam bit his lip to hold back his questions and give Bobby a moment to think. He could only bear to wait a minute however, before he needed answers. He settled back onto the couch so he was sitting across from Bobby.  
  
“Who is he?” said Sam.  
  
“His name is Dean Winchester. He’s a well-known leader for the Rebel Alliance.” Bobby shook his head and frowned, stroking his beard thoughtfully.  
  
“Why’s he sending this... whatever it is, to you? Are you part of the Alliance?”  
  
“In a manner of speaking,” Bobby sighed. “If he’s callin’ on me, it’s got to be bad. I’ve been out of the game for years – well, more or less. Still provide intel when I can. Shelter and passage to fellow Rebels in need, that sort of thing. I stayed in contact with Dean’s father until he was killed two years ago. He was a senator from Alderaan, playing nice with the Empire and helping his son and the Rebels under the table where he could.”

“Is Mom… is Ellen part of the Alliance?” For some reason Sam found himself hoping Bobby would answer _yes_.

Bobby shook his head and Sam’s heart sank a little. “No. That was a big part of why Ellen told me I was no longer welcome anywhere near her or her kids. Specifically you.”  
  
Sam scrunched his eyebrows together. “Why? What did you do?”

Bobby sighed once again. “How much _did_ she tell you, son?”

“Nothing. All she would say was ‘it’s complicated’,” said Sam, more bitterly than he’d intended.  
  
Bobby scrubbed his hand over his worn features. “Yeah, s’pose ‘complicated’ is as good a word as any for it. I barely know where to start myself.”  
  
“Start with the war,” Sam suggested. He knew the basics from history classes in grade school and from copious leisure reading (Jo always teased him that his brain was practically an archive itself). But he wanted to hear about the war from someone he knew, someone who knew his father, who was _there_. Someone who was willing to tell him about it, unlike his mother.  
  
Several moments of silence passed while Bobby marshalled his thoughts and Sam waited as patiently as he could. It was difficult, now that he was finally _this close_ to learning about his parents’ past.  
  
“Long before I was even a twinkle in my folks’ eye, there was long standing peace in the galaxy. Then that peace started to fracture. Maybe not a lot at first, and there’s always goin’ to be planets and species goin’ at each other no matter what, but the unrest started to spread and lines started to get drawn... I mean, you know what happened from your history books.”  
  
Bobby breathed out through his nose before continuing.  
  
“Full-scale war broke out all over the galaxy. Republic versus Separatists at the core of it, but friends against brothers, ally against ally – there wasn’t any place safe, no place not touched by the war in some way.”  
  
“But what about the Jedi?” Sam cut in. “I thought they were, you know, the Keepers of Peace and Justice and stuff. That’s what the legends say, anyway. Didn’t they... well, try and keep the peace?”  
  
The older man nodded. “They sure as hell did try. They spread out over the galaxy, doin’ their best to solve the ‘verse’s problems. Then one day, the clones up and turned on us. Just one minute they were on our side, watchin’ our backs and our homes, dyin’ to protect to the innocent, and then they just... flipped a switch. Fired on the people they were fighting with a minute before.”  
  
Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat. “You and Mom... Ellen.”  
  
Bobby’s eyes were hollow and haunted as he met Sam’s gaze. “And your parents.”

“Is that how they died?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bobby answered, his voice layered thick with memories and emotion.  
  
Tears stung Sam’s eyes and he blinked them away.  
  
“Your father was a hero,” Bobby went on. “You oughta know that. John saved my skin a helluva number of times, and Ellen’s too. He was... he was one of kind. Strong, smart, damn good fighter. Could pilot a snub like nobody’s business. John made a name for himself in the war – put a hefty target on his back because of the problems he was always causing the other side.  
  
“Then your mom – well, she was a force of nature, and she...” the older man trailed off, hesitating. “How much did Ellen tell you about Mary?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “She married Dad. She worked in Coruscant before she met him and then she quit her job and fought with him in the war until they were killed in action.”  
  
“She ever tell you what that job was?”  
  
“Not exactly,” said Sam. “She was always a little vague. She kinda made it sound like she was a bodyguard for Senators or something, so that’s what I always pictured.”  
  
Bobby chuckled. “She was definitely _not_ a bodyguard.” He got up from his chair and crossed the room to a battered old trunk stuffed beside the bookcase. He popped open the lid and rummaged around before retrieving an oblong shaped object wrapped in cloth. He stepped around the low table to pass it to Sam.

“This was hers,” said Bobby. “She wanted you to have it when you were old enough, but Ellen forbid me to give it to you.”  
  
The object was moderately heavy in Sam’s hands as he unwrapped it. His breath caught in his throat as he peeled back the last layer of cloth. Hidden beneath the white folds was a silver tube-like object. From all the archive reading he’d done over the years, Sam recognized the thing at once.  
  
It was a lightsaber.  
  
“No _way_...” he breathed. He turned it over in his fingers gingerly, hardly daring to believe his eyes. These were ancient weapons, as extinct as the Jedi themselves, if the things he’d read about them were true. “Can I...?”  
  
“Just don’t cut through my furniture,” Bobby warned and stepped back to give Sam plenty of room.  
  
Sam’s fingers tingled as he gripped the lightsaber and turned it on. A long beam of blue light emerged from the end with a distinct _hum_. Sam gave it a few experimental waves, enjoying the sound when it moved. It was brilliant, dangerous, and mesmerizing.

Then his brain caught up with him. He jammed the off switch and the blue column disappeared.

“Wait, _my mother_ was a _Jedi Knight?_ ” Sam gaped at Bobby. He tried to match the image of his birth mother in the holopicture on the shelf, delicate and blonde and dressed in blue, to the image of a fierce warrior defending the galaxy wrapped in traditional Jedi robes. He couldn’t reconcile the two in his mind.

Bobby re-seated himself in his chair. “ _Was_ being the key word, there. See, Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments. That way, they can go where they’re needed without hesitation and lay their life on the line. It’s why they’re not supposed to get married. After Mary met John… hell, there was a war going on and they fell in love. In the end, she had to choose between him or the Order. She chose him.”

Sam stared, trying to process all the information Bobby was laying on him. Bobby waited, letting it sink in.

“She left the _Jedi Order_?” Sam eventually managed.

“It’s very rare, but it happens,” said Bobby. “Just a few months after they were married, she found out she was pregnant.”

Bobby shifted in his seat. When he continued, his voice was heavy. “She gave birth only weeks before a massive attack on Threstosii. We – Ellen, me, your parents – managed to avoid the worst of it, though we lost everyone we knew and cared about. I lost Karen…”

He dropped his gaze to the dull gold wedding band on his left hand, eyes shining, lost in memories. Sam turned his mother’s lightsaber over and over in his fingers, still trying to picture her wielding it.

“What happened next?” Sam asked softly when he felt enough time had passed.

Bobby cleared his throat. “The Sith came.”

The name sent a shiver down Sam’s spine.

“John, Ellen, and I were out on the front lines with the clones. I took a blaster bolt to the leg, so John and Ellen got me the hell out of there. At the time it seemed like horrible luck, but somehow the universe must’ve been lookin’ out for us, in a way.” Bobby shook his head. “We left the battlefield, and then all hell broke loose. Thousands of droid reinforcements stormed in and that’s when the clones turned. As far as I know, we three were among a very, _very_ small pool of survivors from that battle.”

Sam tried to picture it and his heart ached.

“John was worried about Mary,” said Bobby. “She’d been home with you. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, we knew she could, but there had been a dozen clones stationed at our safehouse to, well, keep us safe.” He spit the last few words.

He went on, grimly, “We showed up in time to save you. She was already gone. There’d been a Sith with a red lightsaber standing over your mother and John took off after him. Ellen and I took on the men – the clones – who’d been our friends just hours before.” The older man frowned. “John didn’t have a snowball’s chance, going up against a Sith with nothin’ more’n a blaster, even on his best day...”

Bobby rubbed his eyes tiredly. “We found John less than an hour later. Lightsaber through the heart.”

Sam swallowed and struggled to rein in his emotions. He kept his gaze trained on the lightsaber clutched in his white knuckled hand.

“We got wind they were searching for John and Mary’s kid, to end the family line. Ellen and I did the only thing we could do: we ran and we hid. We kept you safe from the Empire that was trying to hunt you down.

“We wanted to keep you away from all the shit that we’d been through, so when you and Jo were young, we kept this crap from you. But as you two began to grow up, and the rebellion against the Empire started to take shape from the corners of the ‘verse… I thought it was time you knew what had happened and what was going on beyond this dusty rock. Ellen didn’t agree.

“We had a blow out over the whole issue and in the end she told me to never see you again. ‘Course she couldn’t stop me from keeping an eye on you from a distance.” Bobby smiled a small, sad sort of smile, and then lapsed into silence.  
  
Sam stared at the lightsaber in his hand. It was so much to take in after knowing next to nothing. It may have been a few minutes, it may have been closer to an hour, before either of them finally spoke.  
  
“So when she said it was complicated...” Sam began.  
  
Bobby chuckled. “Yeah.”  
  
Sam let out his breath in a rush as he stood. “Well, thanks for telling me, Bobby. Good luck with the Alliance.”  
  
The other man’s eyebrows crunched together. “You’re not comin’ with me?”  
  
“Where?”

“To Alderaan, of course,” said Bobby, rising from his chair. “We have to get this chip to the Rebels there for Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, and I said good luck with that,” Sam said, and meant it. “I’ve got to get home and talk to my mom about everything you just told me.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Bobby agreed with a nod. “We can leave tomorrow then.”  
  
Sam laughed. “Bobby, I’m not going with you.”  
  
“And why the hell not? The Rebels need your help – Dean needs your help.”  
  
“No, they need _your_ help,” Sam corrected.  
  
“Son, I’m getting too old for this shit,” Bobby grunted. He fixed his gaze on Sam. “ _I_ need your help.”  
  
The younger man sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Bobby... look, I want to help you. You don’t even know how badly I want to help and get away from here. But I can’t leave Mom behind, after everything she’s done for me. Not now... not after all this.”  
  
“She always knew a day like this would come.”  
  
Sam pressed his lips together. God, he wanted to go. Here was the chance he’d been dying for: to leave Tatooine and finally make a difference, help the rebellion against the Empire. But after everything he’d just learned, how Ellen had protected him, how could he leave now?

Of course he still wished she’d told him everything ages ago and he didn’t exactly agree with her choice to keep it from him, but he understood why she had. She’d had more than her fair share of death, destruction, war, and loss, it was no wonder she didn’t want to relive it and no wonder she fought so hard to keep him and Jo out of it – to _protect_ them from the same horror she’d been through.  
  
“I can’t, Bobby,” Sam whispered, then added, “Maybe someday.”  
  
Bobby nodded slowly, his gaze on the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry,” said Sam.

“No, it’s all right, son,” Bobby replied, and crossed the room to put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I understand. You gotta do what’s right for you. Now, you said your speeder was outta juice? Let’s see if we can’t do something about that.”  
  
Sam smiled a little. “If it’s still in one piece.”  
  
Bobby shot him an amused look. “I wouldn’t count on that.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sure enough, when Bobby and Sam found Sam’s abandoned speeder, it had been torn to pieces by sand people, Jawas, or both. The hull had been stripped, the seats were gone, and so were all of his tools from the trunk and the pod parts he’d left in the bin the night before. Sam cussed under his breath at the sight, but he wasn’t exactly surprised by it.  
  
“Guess you can keep your fuel,” he said, gesturing to the container in the back of Bobby’s shuddering old speeder. “Thanks anyway.”  
  
“Sorry kiddo,” said Bobby, and they rumbled past the shell of Sam’s speeder.  
  
After spending most of the morning talking, the pair said very little on the trip to Sam and Ellen’s homestead, each lost in thought. Not until they flew past the approximate border of the Dune Sea and Sam spotted a thick black plume of smoke rising in the distance was the silence broken. He felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.  
  
“Bobby, drive faster.”  
  
Bobby’s face had gone a few shades paler and he needed no encouragement – he was already accelerating.  
  
The closer they got, the sicker Sam felt. There were no other homesteads near enough for him to mistake where the smoke was coming from. And unless Ellen was having a giant bonfire for some reason...  
  
The speeder roared across the sand and then Sam could see it: his home, a black and charred ruin, belching thick dark smoke. Debris was strewn everywhere, the canvas tent was nothing more than a blackened frame. There were still flames flickering in the windows of the shop.  
  
“Oh my God...” Bobby murmured.  
  
Sam’s heart stopped beating, his breath got stuck in his throat and all he could think about was how his last words to his mother had been _Leave me the hell alone._  
  
The speeder hadn’t quite halted and Sam was already clambering out of it. His heart restarted and worked hard to smash out of his ribs. _Maybe she’s not here, maybe she went out..._  
  
“Mom!” he screamed, scrambling across the dirt and sand towards the front entrance. He distantly thought he heard Bobby call his name, but he couldn’t be sure over the roaring in his ears. _“Mom!”_

He spotted something in the doorway of the home and he stumbled over his feet in his haste to get nearer.

Sam crashed to his knees when he found her. It looked as though she’d been trying to climb out of the burning homestead but hadn’t made it. There were charred binder cuffs on the remains of her wrists and then Sam couldn’t see anymore.  
  
The world tunnelled around him, blurred, slipped sideways. He must’ve passed out. The next thing he knew, he was looking up at Bobby, who had red eyes and was gently shaking Sam’s shoulder, saying his name over and over.  
  
Sam sat up, feeling hollow. For a small moment, he thought maybe he’d had a vivid nightmare. He was still at Bobby’s and had dozed off. Or maybe the sand people had hit him hard enough to knock him out and he was just coming to, and none of this had ever happened. He could go home right now and save her. He could say he was sorry. Say he loved her and he wasn’t going to break her heart like Jo did, that he understood, and he knew, and he’d stay, _he’d stay_.  
  
But then his eyes lighted on the smouldering remains of his home and no, this wasn’t a dream. Bobby must’ve dragged him back to the speeder because Sam was a lot farther away than he remembered being moments ago (or was it an eternity?). He couldn’t see her body from here. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad thing.  
  
Beside him, Bobby drew a deep, trembling breath and kept a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son,” he said quietly.  
  
Sam didn't react, didn't know how to. His world had opened up and ended in the same morning. He stared without seeing, numb and empty and cold, even as the suns were at their highest and hottest far above his head.

He was vaguely aware of Bobby coaxing him to a standing position, steering him to the passenger’s seat of the rusty speeder, strapping him in. As Bobby drove them back to his home, Sam couldn’t pick out the details around him – it was a smoky, hazy blur, and his own words seemed to echo in his ears, followed by Ellen shouting his name, wanting him to come back into the shop and talk to her.  
  
_“Leave me the hell alone.”  
  
“Sam... _ Sam! _”_  
  
He shut his eyes after a while, and saw the homestead, saw _her_ , behind his eyelids. The wind dried the tears on his cheeks.

 

~

 

Dean bit back a groan when the door to his cell opened with a loud _swoosh_. He’d kinda been hoping they’d forgotten about him.  
  
His cuts and bruises from the ‘interrogation’ he’d been through after being captured were starting to heal. His muscles ached from the electric shock the Imperials had put him through when the interrogation had failed. His stomach was empty with hunger (the Imperials had yet to give him more than a few mouthfuls of pasty unflavoured foodpac base).

All in all, the past few days had not been his best. He was very much not looking forward to finding out what the Imperials had planned for him today.  
  
Darth Azazel swooped into the cell, his cape swirling behind him. He was grinning – that was never a good sign.  
  
“What do you want?” Dean snapped.  
  
“Winchester, please.” Azazel tipped his head to the side and fixed those nasty yellow eyes on Dean. “You know exactly what I want. I don’t know how many times I have to ask.”  
  
“Well, _Azazel_ ,” Dean said, purposely skipping over Azazel’s title to piss him off. “I hate to sound like a broken record here, but I’m still not giving it to you. Ever.”  
  
Azazel stepped forward, clasping his black-gloved hands behind his back. “Here’s the thing, Winchester. We found the pod.”  
  
Dean didn’t flinch, but his heartrate ratcheted up a few notches.  
  
“Which I suspect means we’ll soon find the plans you stole, and with any luck, we’ll find your little Rebel rat hidey-hole, too.”  
  
Dean smirked, despite the rapidly dissolving confidence in his gut. If they’d found the pod but not the plans, then someone must’ve discovered the disc and taken it before the Imperials had. But what poor soul had scooped them up and was now about to find themselves in a whole world of trouble with the Imperials?  
  
“You keep saying you won’t tell me anything,” Darth Azazel continued, “and clearly our other methods of persuasionhave not been persuading enough, so let’s try something else.” He turned towards the cell door and crooked his finger.  
  
A large, black, orb-shaped robot came floating into the cell, whirring softly. Fixed on either side of it were hefty-sized syringes filled with yellow-tinted liquid. Dean’s mouth went dry. He’d been lucky enough to have avoided this particular brand of Imperial torture, but he’d heard about it from a fellow Rebel who’d managed to escape captivity.  
  
“Yeah, you know what this is, don’t you?” Azazel gave the robot a gentle tap on top as if it were a beloved pet (maybe it was).  
  
Dean crammed away the fear scratching inside him. He couldn’t let it show. Feeling it meant showing it. Azazel would know he was frightened and he’d have the upper hand – something Dean refused to give him.  
  
“Torture bot. Mind probe. Loaded with truth serum,” Dean answered as casually as he could manage, as if the humming robot before him was no more interesting than the featureless cell wall beyond it.  
  
Azazel pointed at Dean. “Bingo.”  
  
Sometimes Dean hated being right.  
  
“One more chance, compadre. Where’s the Rebel base?”  
  
Dean pursed his lips and scrunched his brow. Then he answered innocently, “In Hell? I can take you there, if you want.” He flashed Azazel a cocky grin.  
  
The Sith stepped back, sneering. “Just remember, you asked for this.”  
  
He gave a nod and several Imperial flunkies in uniform joined them in the cell. They proceeded to wrestle Dean into a set of binders that held his arms uncomfortably behind his back and attached another set to his ankles. Once it was clear Dean wasn’t able to move or strike out at them or their commander, they stepped back.  
  
Darth Azazel rubbed his hands together. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

 

~

 

Everything was cloudy and blurry. Like being awake for too many hours, finally getting a few minutes of sleep then trying to function again. Like he was stumbling through fog and smoke. There were figures swimming in his vision, but he couldn’t focus on them. It was too hard. He stopped trying.  
  
His head throbbed. Something was wrong with his skin – it was prickly. Pins. Like a roll of pins was sticking into his arms over and over. His chest ached too, like he was stiff from too much physical labor. His legs were sore and heavy. He wasn’t moving. Or was he? No, his muscles hurt too much. He didn’t want to move.

His mouth was raw. He must’ve scorched it on a drink that was too hot. Maybe he’d been run over by a speeder or something and was dying in a med unit…   
  
“Where are the Rebels?” A strange, disembodied voice penetrated the fog.  
  
The answer bubbled up Dean’s throat but some instinct stopped the words from tumbling past his lips just in time. _Don't,_ it urged. _Say nothing_.  
  
“Where is the Rebel base?” The voice tried again. It was distant, sweet, wheedling... but familiar. More oily than sweet. Something was wrong with it, though Dean didn’t know what.  
  
Again the answer to the voice’s question came, filled his mouth like a drink of water –

 _Don’t!_ He heard his own voice in his head this time, wriggling through the confusing haze. With difficulty, he swallowed down the words the coaxing voice wanted to hear. Something burning touched his arm and tried to flinch away. It still burned, though, so he must not have moved.  
  
“Stop,” he said – or thought. He couldn’t tell.  
  
“Just tell me where they are and I promise it’ll stop,” insisted the voice – it was more threatening now somehow, less pleasant. More rough than sweet.  
  
The information to the question was struggling to get out. Dean _wanted_ to let it free, because he knew that was what the voice wanted, and the pain in his arms would stop, and the fog would lift, and it would end, _if only he could say the words..._  
  
He saw flashes of people then – people he knew. Friends, fellow Rebels. His parents: a tall thin man with wispy grey hair and a shorter woman with wavy, fading red hair. He saw himself kissing a black disc and sliding it between panels inside an escape pod. He saw a pair of terrifying yellow eyes and needed to run, to lash out. Why the hell couldn’t he move?  
  
_Do not give in,_ said his own voice, strong and sure in his head. _Don’t tell him anything._ Dean trusted that voice; he listened to it. He fought down the urge to speak, jammed the words deep inside, locking them up in an airtight container. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into his palm.

 _Stay strong_ , his inner voice commanded.  
  
The strange voice came back, no longer sweet. Now it was angry, grating, hateful, and shouting.

“Tell me where the Rebels are, you shit!” It slammed against his senses, crashed around his skull, ugly and discordant. “Tell me! Damn it, where are they hiding?! _Tell me!_ ”  
  
“No!” he thought – or maybe he yelled?  
  
Dean cried out as something pierced his arm, sharp, deep, red hot. He didn’t want to obey the foul voice.  
  
He wanted to wake up.

 

~

 

Darth Azazel stormed into the corridor of the Detention block outside Winchester’s cell. The men with him scurried out behind him, bringing the probe and locking the cell back up.  
  
Azazel was furious. The mind probe with the serum was an incredible weapon, the best of the tools at his disposal and it had failed him. He’d seen dozens of men spill their guts after only a couple doses. He’d peeled them apart like ripe fruit. Yet Winchester had managed to withstand an entire damn syringe.  
  
Azazel had even used a considerable amount of the second syringe, against one of his lieutenant’s warnings that it could kill Winchester. Still the bastard held onto his secrets. Azazel had seen people resist before, but to _entirely_ withstand the mind probe was extremely rare.  
  
“He’s impressively strong,” one of the men behind him remarked, sounding a little in awe of their traitorous prisoner.  
  
Azazel rounded on him. Some of the guards flinched and cowered, while the others hid their weakness well and stood their ground.  
  
“You think so, do you?” the Sith sneered.  
  
The lieutenant began sputtering and blabbering some sort of explanation that Azazel did not care to hear. He reached for the Force, wrapping his fingers around dark threads of energy in his mind. He swung his hand out like he was swatting a fly. The lieutenant went hurtling down the corridor. His scream cut off abruptly with a clench of Azazel’s fist. The man’s neck snapped before he hit the ground.  
  
Without a word or glance back at the body, Azazel swept down the corridor to the Detention block control room and the turbolifts beyond. He was going to find a way to make Winchester talk. Darth Azazel wasn’t one of the only two Sith in the galaxy for nothing, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Back at Bobby’s home, Sam moved about in a fog, doing whatever Bobby told him to do. Half the time the older man directed instructions and speech at Sam, the rest of the time it sounded like he was talking to himself. Sam responded with an occasional acknowledging nod.  
  
“They must’ve tracked the pod,” Bobby said, rushing around the living area. He pushed a big duffel bag into Sam’s hands. “Clear off that shelf over there. Everything into the bag.”  
  
Sam’s feet brought him to the shelf Bobby had indicated. He began putting objects and artefacts into the bag.  
  
“When they couldn’t find the disc – that’s when they must’ve figured out someone raided the pod.” Bobby opened up the trunk in the corner of the room and started filling another duffel bag. “Saw the junk, interrogated her, torched the place... Sure as anythin’ they’re coming here next. We need to get our asses away from here. Hell, we need to get off the damn _planet_.”  
  
Bobby looked up to see Sam had finished with the shelf, so the older man directed him to the bookcase. “Just grab as many as’ll fit.” Bobby returned his attention to the trunk and his mumbling. “No sense hanging around waitin’ for those Imperial slugs. We’ll get to the spaceport, sell everything or barter passage off.”  
  
He zipped up the full bag he had and crossed the room to zip up Sam’s. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders and gave him a rough shake. Sam started, blinking and focusing on Bobby for the first time in an hour.  
  
“Sam, I know – _trust me_ – I know how you’re feeling right now,” the older man said earnestly. “But you gotta save this for later. We have to get off this rock and we have to get Dean’s disc to Alderaan, or Ellen – your mom – died for nothing an’ so will we.”  
  
He moved one of his hands to grasp Sam behind his head at the base of neck. “You hear me, son?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard. “I can’t, Bobby...” His eyes glistened with a wave of fresh tears.  
  
“Sure you can,” said Bobby softly. “You’re John and Mary’s son. I guarantee you’re a helluva lot stronger than you think you are.” He sighed and stepped back, letting go of Sam. “Okay, this is gonna sound a little hokey, but it’s something Mary used to do. Mind you, she was a Jedi Knight, so it might not work the same… still, there’s no harm in tryin’.  
  
“Sam, I want you to just... close your eyes, and... use the Force to put away what you’re feelin’.”  
  
“'Use the Force?'” Sam stared at Bobby. “Seriously?”

“Look, humor me, all right? Your mom was a Jedi, so there’s a good chance you have strong... _Force_ sense or whatever the hell it’s called. Try.”  
  
Sam didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing, didn’t believe he even _could_ do whatever it was, but he tried for Bobby’s sake. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Use the Force_. Right. Like he had any clue how to do that.  
  
He’d read plenty about the Force in various Jedi lore. It was a sort of intangible energy that gave a Jedi their power. One entry in particular, Sam recalled, had read: _It surrounds us, penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together._ He had no idea how this was supposed to help him contain the overwhelming flood of grief and guilt that was suffocating him.  
  
He tried to remember what he’d read. He concentrated on his breathing, slow and deep. He fought to empty his mind. He imagined reaching out and grasping at white light. For a second, he felt a flash of peace and calm and his breath hitched – _I think I’m doing it_ – but then it was gone, instantly, and he couldn’t get it back.  
  
Sam opened his eyes to see Bobby watching him hopefully. The younger man shook his head and Bobby visibly deflated.  
  
“Ah, well, it was worth a try.” He shrugged and went to grab the duffel bags.  
  
Sam couldn’t say he felt _better_ , exactly. His heart still was a pile of broken shards trying to slice through his chest and his gut. He still wanted to see Ellen’s face again more than anything he’d ever wanted. But though Bobby’s exercise hadn’t worked how he wanted it to, it _had_ pierced Sam’s haze.  
  
Bobby was right: he would have to grieve later. Right now, they needed to escape the Imperials and ensure critical information made it into the hands of the Rebels.  
  
If Jo were here, she’d kick his ass in gear. She’d always been the type for action over emotion. And if Ellen were here, to advise him on what to do next, he imagined she’d cup her calloused hands around Sam’s cheeks and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead, and say, “They need your help, honey.”  
  
Sam squared his shoulders, grabbed the handles of one the duffel bags, and followed Bobby out to the speeder.

 

~

 

They stopped at a market to sell off most of the things Bobby had brought. It didn’t net them much, but Bobby was sure it was enough to get them out of here. They continued on to Mos Eisley spaceport. Sam had never been this far past Anchorhead, nor had he ever been to a spaceport, so he couldn’t help craning his neck in every direction trying to see everything at once. All the beings, creatures, vehicles, activity...  
  
“Watch yourself around here, son,” warned Bobby. “This place is a magnet for criminals, idjits, and every sort of nasty S.O.B. you can think of.”  
  
Sam shot Bobby a worried look. “And we’re going here on purpose _why?_ ”  
  
“Where else can we find a ship to take us to Alderaan with no questions asked?” said the older man. He added with a grunt, “or someone who’ll willingly pay money for this hunk of junk we’re ridin’ in.”  
  
Sam chuckled. “I wasn’t gonna say it.”  
  
As they rumbled down the main drag towards the spaceport’s hub, Sam felt his heart hop up into his throat. There were a handful of Imperial troops stopping every vehicle heading to the spaceport and Sam doubted they were checking everyone out for their health. He shot Bobby another anxious look.  
  
Bobby shifted in his seat. “Just follow my lead,” he instructed. A moment later they pulled up to the troopers who waved them down.  
  
“What seems to be the trouble, fellas?” asked Bobby, his voice a practiced mixture of innocence and genuine concern.  
  
“We’re searching for a fugitive who may be attempting to flee the planet,” the one closest to Bobby said in a clipped tone, sounding electronic coming over the comm of his white helmet. “Let me see your identification.”  
  
Bobby reached over Sam to pull some ID from the speeder’s glove box. Sam worked to appear as casual and calm as possible, though his heart was now _pounding_ in his throat – he had zero pieces of ID on him, and the moment that trooper asked for his, they were completely screwed. Their quest to help the Alliance was about to be over before it had begun.  
  
The trooper took the ID pieces from Bobby and inspected them. “Rufus Turner?”  
  
Bobby nodded and smiled. “That’s me. This here’s my son, Jesse.”

“What is your business here today?”

“We’re tryin’ to sell this old speeder of mine. Didn’t think we’d need his ID, so I’m sorry to say we left it at home. Gonna grab us some dinner when we’re done our business.”  
  
It was impossible to tell if the soldier was buying Bobby’s story or not with his face hidden behind the impassive white and black helmet. After an agonizing minute of consideration, the trooper handed Bobby’s I.D. back.  
  
“Where do you live?” questioned the soldier.  
  
Bobby rattled off directions like a true Tatooine native – “Oh, ‘bout forty K southwest, past where the Gunders used to live, you know out by the canyon? Then twelve clicks east from there, around the Obl'iik valley,” – until the trooper held up a hand to stem the good-natured flow of words.  
  
“Do you know a man named Bobby Singer?”  
  
“Sure!” Bobby said jovially. “He’s sort of a weirdo, only comes to the market once in a while, really keeps to himself. Nice enough fella, once you to get to – ”  
  
“Do you know where he lives?”  
  
“Ah,” Bobby scratched his beard. “Last I heard, he’d set up shop in a homestead oh, out past the Dune Sea.” He promptly gave the Stormtroopers some appropriately vague directions, then adopted a concerned expression. “Bobby’s not in any sort of trouble, is he?”  
  
“We just have a few questions for him,” said the trooper sternly. Sam ignored the cold trickle that seeped down his spine. “You can go about your business. Move along.” The trooper waved them on.  
  
Sam didn’t exhale until they were far away, parking the speeder. “Why did you tell them where you actually lived?”  
  
Bobby heaved himself out of the speeder and grabbed the bag containing the last of his unsold treasures. “Because it gives them something to do _far_ away from us. Now go get yourself a drink and try to find us a pilot while I get some more credits and get rid of this old thing. I’ll join you in a minute.”

 

~

 

Bobby met up with Sam in the cantina with a pocket full of credits and no duffle bag. The money wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but certainly more than he’d been expecting to get for the old speeder. Sam hadn’t had much luck finding a pilot, but Bobby fared better.  
  
“Sam,” he gave the younger man’s sleeve a tug. “Found one.”

Sam politely ended the conversation with a bright blue-skinned spice trader he’d been speaking with and followed Bobby through the crowded cantina.  
  
Sam wasn’t used to seeing all the alien beings that populated the place. He’d seen his fair share of aliens in the markets and in the shop over the years, but Tatooine was mostly settled by humans, so it was a shock to be in the minority all of the sudden. Skin of every color surrounded him, as well as beings with fur, feathers, scales, extra limbs, eyes, noses, mouths, who were tall, short, loud, quiet – the variations were endless.  
  
The table Bobby gestured Sam to have a seat at already had two occupants. One was a tall and thin female alien, covered in layers of leaf-green scales and fur. She had large eyes with irises a startling pinwheel of orange and yellow and a long snout. It gave the impression the creature was pursing her lips for a kiss. The other person at the table was a human woman with shoulder-length brown hair, pretty green eyes, and a cocky tilt to her smiling pink lips. She was sporting a low cut white shirt. Her hand rested on a blaster attached to the belt of her black pants.  
  
“This is Ree,” said the woman, gesturing to the green being on her left. “And I’m Bela Talbot. I understand you need to get to Alderaan.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam. “And fast.”  
  
Bela raised a thin eyebrow. “Have you never heard of me?”  
  
Sam and Bobby exchanged glances.  
  
“Should we have?” asked Bobby.  
  
“Have you never heard of my ship? The _Impala_?” she tried again, a little incredulous.  
  
“I say again, _should_ we have?”  
  
Bela looked between the two, like she was hardly able to believe what she was hearing. “I made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs in that ship.”  
  
Bobby snorted. “Like hell you did. No one can do the Kessel Run in twelve.”

“Very well, it was more like sixteen,” Bela admitted swiftly, not particularly bothered that Bobby had called her out on her boasting. “The fact remains that I am still a damn good pilot with a damn fast ship.”  
  
“Fine, so you’re fast. Can you get us to Alderaan or not?” Bobby snapped – they were running out of time before those Imperials discovered they were on a wild goose chase. “No cargo, just me and him.”

“When do you need to leave?”

“Is now too soon?”  
  
Bela smiled. “What, got yourselves in some sort of trouble? Fleeing the planet?”  
  
Sam shifted uncomfortably.  
  
Bobby didn’t return the woman’s smile. “Let’s just say we’re dodging some white suits, if you catch my drift.”  
  
Bela leaned back in her seat, considering. “Did you have a price in mind?”  
  
“Three now and another ten when we get to Alderaan. That’s more than fair.”

Bela looked between them thoughtfully and then turned to Ree, who let out a soft series of clicks. Bela shrugged.

“Reasonable enough,” she replied. “I’ll take it, but only because he’s so _very_ cute,” she added with a flirtatious wink at Sam.

His cheeks flushed under her open attention. Sam glanced down at his hands to avoid her gaze.

“Done.” Bobby held out his hand and shook Bela’s to seal the agreement.

“Meet us in docking bay 2Y5 in an hour and we’ll ship out.” Bela stood and gave Sam an obvious once-over followed by a wide grin. She turned on her heel to head out of the cantina with Ree.

 

~

 

Bela sent Ree to prepare the _Impala_ for take-off while she made a quick stop in the little girls’ room. Upon exiting, she rather wished she’d had the good sense to wait until she was back at her ship. The second she left the bathroom, a short man with dark hair and hazel eyes spotted her. He grinned wolfishly and headed straight for her. Bela cursed, having no way to escape him now that he’d caught sight of her.

“Miss Bela Talbot,” he greeted, his voice colored with a slight Core-affected accent. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Bela’s smile was thin and forced. “Crowley. I, however, am not surprised to see _you_ here. This is the sort of decrepit dive you frequent, yeah?”

Crowley gestured toward the empty booth to the right of the bathrooms. Bela reluctantly took a seat, her stomach writhing like a bowl of squiggling worms. Being cornered by a bounty hunter was hardly a situation she wanted to willingly further.

“Charming, as ever,” he replied. He took a seat opposite her. “Your payment is _quite_ overdue, you know.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” said Bela, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that why you’re here? Followed me to tell me that?”

“No, my dear,” Crowley smirked and removed his blaster from his holster, aiming it across the table at her. Her heart sank low in her chest. “I’ve been looking for you, as probably every other bounty hunter has been looking for you this side of the Core, for the money involved in _finding_ you. The price Lillith has on your head is too lucrative to pass by. I must say, I was surprised you’ve made so much trouble for her. Knowing her reputation and all. And yours.”

Bela sighed, letting her hands drop to her sides beneath the table. “They had me cornered. Sometimes you have to cut and run to save your own skin.” She eyed him with a knowing smile. “You know that better than anyone, Crowley.”

“True,” he admitted. “But I also am very careful who I make enemies with. You should never have made enemies with Lillith.”

Under the table, Bela casually wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her blaster, careful not to let her arm move and give away her intentions to Crowley. He was a slick, sneaky bastard and she’d had more than her fair share of run-ins with the bounty hunter. She wasn’t about to take any chances.

“I didn’t ‘make enemies’with her,” said Bela with a roll of her eyes. “We had a deal, it fell through due to reasons beyond my control. But you can tell her that I have her money. I simply have to make a quick stop on Alderaan, and then I’ll be on her doorstep with the credits I owe her for the botched job.”

“Do I look like a messenger boy to you?”

She leveled her best genuine gaze at him. “Come on, Crowley. We go way back, yeah? Surely you could do this favor for me. I can’t stand being in someone’s debt, same as you – I’d owe you one, you know that.”

“Darling,” Crowley tilted his head in a patronizing way. “You know that it’s gone way past a simple debt at this point.”

Bela nodded. After a pause, she inquired, “That bounty. Is it dead or alive?”

Crowley shrugged and smiled nastily at her. “I didn’t check.”

“Pity.”

Under the table, Bela pulled the trigger. There was a _pewbang_ as her blaster went off, a bolt slicing into Crowley’s gut. She relished the split second of complete surprise on his face before he slumped to the side of the booth.

Patrons nearby in the bar turned in surprise, a few even stood from their seats ready to run at the sudden commotion, but most only cast a mildly curious glance in Bela’s direction as she tossed a wad of credits onto the table. This sort of ‘incident’ was sadly not out of the ordinary for the likes of the Mos Eisley cantina.

“Should’ve taken my offer,” she mumbled under her breath, casting a semi-regretful glance at the body in the booth. Smoke rose in faint tendrils from the fresh blaster hole in Crowley’s middle. She didn’t like killing in general, but she had to admit offing scum like Crowley was rather pleasing.

Bela softly cleared her throat before hurrying from the cantina. If she was to be dodging Lillith’s hired guns, her life was about to get a hell of a lot more interesting. She hoped those boys showed up a little earlier than scheduled so they could blast away from this hole before Bela encountered any more unpleasant surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, SPN has _sooo_ many characters. My hope was to fit as many in as possible, but I wanted them to come in naturally and not be completely shoe-horned just for the sake of getting everyone in. There were a whole bunch who simply didn’t fit in the end, but rest assured I still came up with backstories and possible roles for all of them. I figure many of you would probably be interested to read them, so I’ll post them as a/n’s at the end of various chapters so you’re not bombarded with random information. ;) Here's the first:
> 
> Balthazar: He’s totally a merc with shady connections and a mix of legitimate and illegitimate businesses scattered around the galaxy. He’s fluid and goes wherever the money is, but he’s always gone before a situation gets too hot. He’s talked himself out of at least three arrests, has warrants for his arrest in seven systems, is accidentally married in one system, and accidentally a national hero in another.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam and Bobby sold off the last of the items Bobby had brought from his home and arrived at the appointed dock for Bela and her ship. When he saw the aircraft, Sam laughed in surprise.

“ _This_ is your ship?”

It was a large light freighter, Sam guessed a YT class, though it was hard to tell. It’d been modified dozens of times over at least. The ship was a decent size for a light freighter, but so beat up that Sam had a hard time taking it seriously.

Bela passed a crate to Ree on the loading ramp and raised her eyebrow at him. “Something wrong with it?”

“It’s ancient, for starters,” said Sam as he approached. He glanced up at the _Impala_. “And it looks like one good laser cannon will blast it out the sky.”

“It’s seen better days, I’ll give you that,” Bela admitted. “But she can take a hit and she’s as fast as I promised – she can make point five past lightspeed. You’ll be at Alderaan before you know it.” She winked.

“We can talk about how great your ship is once we’re in space,” Bobby grumbled from behind Sam and pushed past him. “Remember how we’re in a hurry to get out of here?”

“It just so happens I’m in a bit of a rush myself, so climb on board and get comfortable, gents.” She gestured up the ramp.

Inside, Sam tried to look in every direction at once. The ship was as beat up inside as it was outside, a mish-mash of old and new parts. Even as Sam suddenly had great misgivings that he and Bobby were even going to make it to Alderaan in this bucket of bolts, he felt a thrill of excitement race through him because this was a real, live light freighter, and he was really doing this– he was leaving Tatooine.

Bobby, clearly familiar with the layout of this model of ship, led them straight to the main passenger common area and took a seat. Sam followed, but stopped and whirled when he heard blaster fire and shouts. Ree barreled past them, squeaking and clicking frantically. Bobby hopped to his feet and shot a worried look at Sam. Bela ran on board, sealing the ship behind her.

“Ree! Now! Go _now!_ ” she hollered and rushed by, hair whipping out behind her.

“What’s going on?” Sam shouted after her.

Bela called over her shoulder, “We have company!”

Sam and Bobby followed her to the cockpit as the huge ship rumbled to life. It quaked and shook. Sam prayed that it was the blaster fire outside causing those noises and not the ship itself, threatening to break apart.

“What happened?” demanded Bobby.

“Imperials,” Bela said as her hands flew across the console flipping switches.

Bobby and Sam exchanged anxious looks. Apparently they’d figured out Bobby’s lie a lot sooner than hoped.

Ree’s long limbs and fingers were a blur of activity over the console. She snapped and squeaked sharply.

“I know, I _know_ ,” Bela told her. “Don’t start with me, just get us going!”

Through the sizeable cockpit window, Sam could see a half dozen of Stormtroopers setting up laser cannons. He gulped. They were going to disable the ship before it even took off.

“You might want to hurry.” Sam’s heartbeat pulsed in his throat.

Bela didn’t reply. She barked sharp commands at Ree, who clicked crossly back. Then the _Impala_ was blasting off and Sam and Bobby were thrown off their feet onto the seats crammed behind the pilot’s chairs. Sam watched the walls of the spaceport disappear, becoming blue-tinted Tatooine sky and then a black expanse dotted with stars.

As the ship roared through space, the window filled with the ominous sight of two gigantic Imperial cruisers bearing down on them. Bobby and Bela both swore; Sam’s stomach churned. He thought of the chip with Dean’s message hidden in his belt and tried not to think about dying before the Rebels even saw it.

“So when you said you were ‘dodging some white suits’, you were soft selling me a bit, yeah?” Bela remarked.

Bobby didn’t answer.

“What do we do?” asked Sam. A direct laser cannon hit rocked the ship. “Can you outrun them?”

“What do you think I’m doing, sweetheart?” Bela replied sweetly and wrenched on the controls.

Sam held onto his chair as the ship twisted and turned. Through the window, Sam saw stars whirl past and brilliant bolts of laser fire zip by too close for comfort.

“Once we’re in hyperspace, they won’t be able to catch us,” Bela told them. The ship shuddered and bucked from another direct hit. A red light flashed on the console accompanied by a repetitive beeping alarm. “Damn, there goes the rear deflector,” she mumbled.

“Then go to hyperspace!” said Sam, his voice rising. “What’re you waiting for?”

“Ree is doing the navigational calculations so we don’t smash through an asteroid or end up beside a supernova or something equally as pleasant and unsurviveable,” she told him hotly and tugged on the navigational controls again. The ship listed hard to the left. “I’m a very good pilot, Sam, so sit back and relax.”

“But – ”

“And most importantly,” she cut off his protests and concerns. “Shut up.”

He could do anything but relax as the ship lurched again. A second alarm joined the first one and Sam glanced at Bobby, who was pale and clutching the arms of his chair. His eyes were closed like he was pretending he was anywhere else in an effort not to deposit his stomach all over the cockpit’s interior.

The ship took a brutal hit that threw them hard in their seats. Sam’s head collided with the wall on his left, sparking stars in his vision.

“That was a big one,” she muttered then glanced at her co-pilot. “How we doin’, Ree?”

The green being responded with a series of clacks. Bela swiftly reached forward to grasp a silver handle in the center of the control-filled console. She pulled the handle towards her and the ship responded instantly. It shot forward into hyperspace, the stars streaking by like white paint from a brush stroke.

 

~

 

For a moment, Dean was glad they were taking him out of his cell. He was pretty damn tired of staring at the same bland wall, so the change of scenery was nice. The troops marched him down corridor after corridor, weaving past Imperials of all ranks who hardly gave him a second look. He did his best to shove away the uncomfortable queasy feeling stealing over him.

He’d assumed their next tactic was to ignore him for a few days, conveniently forget to feed him, and try to starve the truth out of him. The fact that they were hauling him out less than a day after he’d sweated out the last of the serum they’d given him didn’t bode well. He dreaded to discover what Darth Azazel was up to now.

The guards brought him to hub of the battle station. It was a bustling hive of activity with Imperials at dozens of consoles and screens. Dean swallowed down the fear prickling at the back of his neck. They would never let a known Rebel into such a sensitive area unless said Rebel’s death was imminent. Azazel was at the front of the room in front of a large black viewscreen.

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted, like they were old friends meeting for drinks.

“Oh, it’s you again. I was wondering what that smell was,” Dean quipped.

Azazel’s lip curled slightly. “I would stop being so cocky, if I were you.”

“Yeah, and why’s that? Finally decided to kill me?”

“You got it.”

“Even after all the fun we’ve had over the years?” Dean brought his bound hands to his chest, his expression a mockery of disbelief. He dropped his arms and added in a casual, flat tone, “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t had the balls to do it already. Figured you must just _love_ having me around so much.” He grinned.

“Oh, I am so going to enjoy watching your execution, Winchester,” Darth Azazel snarled. “But before we get to that and the extra little treat I’ve arranged, I wanted you to be here while we demonstrated the weapons system on this station. For old time’s sake.”

“You always did know the way to my heart,” Dean retorted sarcastically.

Azazel gestured to one of his men and the viewscreen lit up to reveal a familiar blue, green, and white planet beyond. Dean’s knees buckled and he felt the air in his lungs rush out as if he’d been hit with a Yrashu club.

“What the hell is this?” Dean demanded. His spine tingled with dread.

“I told you, we want to demonstrate the Death Star’s capabilities.” Azazel stepped closer. “Too many star systems are getting ideas, becoming disobedient and disloyal. If the Empire is to stay strong, we can’t have that.” He came closer, baring his teeth. “We need to make an example of such planets. I thought your home planet made a nice starting point.”

“You _bastard_ ,” Dean spat, helplessness and rage engulfing him. “Alderaan is a peaceful, defenseless planet! You can’t do this to them!”

“Maybe if I had another target instead, Alderaan might be free to go,” Azazel suggested silkily.

Dean clenched his jaw tight, his thoughts flashing, grasping for a way out.

“Tell me where the Rebel base is, Winchester. Give me another target.”

Dean swallowed and his eyes moved from Azazel’s horrible ones, past the Sith’s shoulder to his home, unarmed and vulnerable out in the middle of open space. He couldn’t give up the Rebels, he _couldn’t_. He’d been raised to defend and protect the Rebels, to help them and work with them. He believed in their cause: taking down the tyrannical Empire, in fighting for what was right, and in innocence and justice. Giving up any precious piece of information about the Alliance would be equal to killing his entire belief system, his identity, _everything_. He was ready to die to protect that.

But Alderaan wasn’t _. He’d_ signed up for this, but those millions of people down there hadn’t. If he stayed quiet, Azazel would follow through with his threat and exterminate them, he had no doubt of that. He’d seen firsthand exactly how brutal the Imperial lord could be. All those deaths would be on Dean’s head, when he had the power to stop it, just by giving up the location of the Rebels.

But he could never give them up, no matter what…

“Sometime today, Winchester,” Darth Azazel growled impatiently. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes. He knew he’d won this battle already: either way, Dean lost catastrophically.

Dean’s breath snagged in his chest as he fought to make a decision. Finally, he knew there was only one thing he _could_ do.

He ducked his head and shut his eyes. It’d be easier to speak if he couldn’t see those hideous yellow eyes.

“Dantooine,” he managed, his voice scratchy and ripping at the seams. He opened his eyes and slowly raised his gaze, pained and hateful.

Azazel’s gleeful grin was vile. “I knew you’d come around eventually, Winchester,” he crowed. “I just had to find the right pressure point.” To the men at the weapons station, Azazel gestured vaguely with his hand and said, “Open fire when ready.”

Dean choked. “What? You said – ”

“Dantooine is awfully remote,” said Darth Azazel. “Destroying it won’t do much good with the whole ‘fear keeps the systems in line’ plan I have going on.” He held up a finger. “Rest assured, I _will_ destroy it though.”

Dean tried to leap for the Sith’s throat, but the troops flanking him wrestled him back.

“You bastard! You said you’d spare them! If I told you where the Rebels were, you’d – ”

“Did I?” Azazel touched a gloved finger mock-thoughtfully to his chin. “Well, I lied.”

From behind, one of the men indicated the beam was ready. Dean struggled harder against his captors blindly, desperately.

“Commence primary ignition,” Azazel instructed casually. He shot a cruel and sadistic smile Dean’s way. “Say goodbye, Dean.”

“No!” Dean shouted. “No! You bastard – _you fucking bastard_ – ”

There was a loud humming, and Dean watched in utter, helpless horror as a massive beam of green light emanated from the Death Star and blasted straight for the powerless planet beyond – for Alderaan, his home.

The planet exploded in a massive fireball, shards and debris scattering across the backdrop of a thousand pinpricks of light.

Dean screamed until his throat was raw.

Azazel laughed.

Dean felt as though a hand had reached into his chest and torn his heart out from beneath his ribs. Tears blurred his vision and he trembled all over. His home; an _entire planet_ ; millions of innocent lives… The terrifying power of the Empire blew away something that immense in one brilliant beam. In mere seconds.

The remnants of Alderaan scattered into the darkness and Dean struggled to breathe.

Darth Azazel swooped in close, gripped Dean roughly under his chin and forced the rebel to look up into those yellow eyes.

“See you at the execution,” the Sith sneered and released him. “Just you wait and see who else will be there.”

Hollow and shaky, Dean let himself be dragged back to his cell. Tears made silent tracks down his cheeks.


	7. Chapter 7

The trip to Alderaan was a long one.

For a while, Sam was so amped up from the narrow escape from Tatooine that he couldn’t sit still. Bobby suggested he try practicing at using his mother’s lightsaber, and Sam figured it was as good an idea as any to pass the time. He spent a while in the open common area waving it around and getting a feel for it before going head to head against a remote.

Sam glanced over at Bobby who was watching him with a funny look on his face.

“What?” Sam asked, giving the lightsaber a swing to avoid a bolt from the remote.

“Oh, just remembering,” said Bobby. “Used to watch your mom do that sometimes. It was her way of focusing and unwinding – said it helped her think, kept her hands busy.” Bobby tilted his head thoughtfully. “She used to do it with her eyes closed.”

“What?” Sam didn't take his eyes off the remote, but missed deflecting the bolt that came sailing his way. It zapped him sharply in the shoulder. He winced and adjusted his position for the next bout. “How’d she do that? You kind of need to be able to _see_ the thing to stop the bolts.”

Bobby shrugged. “Hell if I know. John always said she looked like a dancer when she’d do it – lost in the music only she could hear. Swirlin’ around with that lightsaber...” His eyes glossed over as he lost himself in memories of his best friends.

Sam frowned, watching the remote flit up and down, sideways, and back again. How did she stop the thing if she wasn’t watching it carefully? He stepped and sliced to counter a pair of zaps from the remote. It must’ve been a Jedi thing, a Force thing. Still frowning, Sam shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Like back at Bobby’s when the older man had wanted him to put away his feelings, Sam tried mentally _reaching_ , though he wasn’t sure what he was reaching for. 

A stinging bolt hit him in the leg and Sam hissed but kept his eyes shut. He could feel Bobby watching him and squared his shoulders to try again. Clearing his mind, he breathed slow and deep, reached out...

He pictured the remote hovering before him and relaxed his grip on the lightsaber. Then, almost like that feeling of someone standing in the corner of your vision right before they speak, Sam had the sense of where the remote was. Without conscious thought, he arced his lightsaber to the left and right in quick succession, successfully stopping two bolts.

“Holy shit,” he blurted, his eyes snapping open. “I did it!”

Bobby chuckled. “’Course you did – you’re Mary’s son.”

Sam grinned and continued practicing with renewed vigor. He attempted keeping his eyes shut again, though he couldn’t consistently grasp the same feeling with any form of certainty. It was like grabbing at a handful of sand, the grains slid between his fingers. Sometimes he could catch a bolt but mostly he missed and received a sharp sting for his trouble.

He went back to working with his eyes open. As he grew more comfortable with the lightsaber, he played with the level of difficulty on the remote. Eventually Bobby stopped watching Sam and had a nap; he pulled his cap down low over his eyes.

Bela emerged from the cockpit to join them. “Thought you oughta know that our radars are officially clear.” She sat down by Bobby’s feet and put her own up on the inactive hologram table.  
  
Sam dodged a _zap_ from the remote but missed deflecting it with the lightsaber. He shifted his stance and turned to meet another _zap_ , this one nearly connecting. Bela observed him moving about for several minutes and listened to the pleasant hum of the lightsaber before speaking again.

“I’m normally not one to get involved in my passenger’s business,” she said, examining her nails briefly. “And I’m certainly not opposed to pulling one over on the Empire, but I am very curious as to why you two were such a hot item with those troops back there.” She looked up at Sam from under her long eyelashes.

Sam was focused on the moving orb, but even if he hadn’t been, he wasn’t going to answer her. He twirled to meet a bolt from the remote but it slipped under his guard and singed his calf. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t break his stance.

“So what’d you do?” Bela tried again.  
  
Sam ignored her.

“Oh come on, lads,” Bela rolled her eyes. “I realize smugglers aren’t exactly known for being the most trustworthy bunch, but I did save your asses back there and broke at least a dozen laws doing it. I think that earns me _something_ , doesn’t it?”  
  
Sam deactivated the lightsaber and faced her. The remote immediately powered down and floated to a corner of the room. Bela fixed her big green eyes on him, her expression a perfect mix of innocent curiosity, pleading, and a hint of suggestive flirtation. He could tell it was the type of look that had swayed hundreds of men before him into doing her bidding and he found himself feeling sorely tempted to do the same.  
  
Based on the extremely sensitive nature of the message Dean had sent Bobby, Sam wasn’t about to tell anyone about it. The last thing he needed was to accidentally give up his secrets to someone playing for the wrong side. That being said, he had to agree Bela had a point: she _had_ outrun those Destroyers on their behalf, putting herself and Ree in danger to do it, and that absolutely did earn her some level of trust.

“We have to deliver an important message,” Sam began, choosing his words carefully.  
  
“Sam,” Bobby piped up a warning from under the brim of his hat.  
  
“It’s okay, Bobby,” the younger man assured him. To Bela, he said, “We have information that is potentially catastrophic in the wrong hands.”  
  
“Imperial hands?” Bela raised an eyebrow and smiled.  
  
Sam chuckled a little then admitted, “Yeah.”  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest. “So why Alderaan?”

“Because it’s far away and neutral,” Sam answered at once. Which was true. There just also happened to be some Rebels hiding there that they would contact and pass the chip to, on Dean’s behalf. “We’ll figure out our next move from there.”  
  
Bela nodded, pursing her lips. “Well, I can tell you from experience that tangling with the Empire is... not ideal. So I wish you boys lots of luck.”  
  
“We’re gonna need it,” Bobby grumbled.  
  
Sam took a seat on Bela’s other side. “So why were you in a hurry?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“When we got to the docking bay, you said you were in a rush,” Sam clarified. “What’d _you_ do?”  
  
“Ah, yes. That. I suppose you told me yours, so it’s only fair I tell you mine.” Bela ran her hand through her shining hair. “Several months back, I was running a smuggling job that went sour – I found myself trapped by some Imperials and had to lose the cargo or lose my life. Naturally, I chose to ditch the goods.  
  
“The, ah, crime lord-ess I was pulling the job for was rather unforgiving about the whole thing, particularly seeing as how I’d completed dozens of successful – and highly risky, I might add – jobs for her in the past without incident.”

Bela sighed. “At first she wanted payment for the lost cargo, but then she wanted interest and fees to cover time lost and so on. I wasn’t able to pay it all and she refused to hear my promises of getting her the credits as soon as I could. She has since put a bounty on my head, and I ran into one of the hunters right after I agreed to take you lads off planet.” She smiled. “Thus the rush. I didn’t fancy coming face to face with any more of her cronies.”  
  
Sam whistled low. “Sounds like you’re in a bit of a situation yourself. Good luck with that.”  
  
Bela laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, thank you.”  
  
After that, Ree joined them, reporting all was clear on their journey. Bela, Sam, and Ree started up a game of Dejarik, while Bobby continued to ‘nap’ next to them. After three games, in which Bela thoroughly beat Ree and Sam, Bobby rose to join them, claiming he needed to show Bela how it was done. When they tired of that, Sam pulled up a variety of digital books and articles to read to pass the time. Bela tapped idly at an electronic datapad and Bobby attempted to teach Ree some old card game he knew called _sabacc_.

The four of them shared an unexciting meal of flavored foodpacs in the cramped kitchen area and Bela gave them a quick tour of the ship: engine room, med unit, passenger dorm (which was basically a hallway with two sets of stacked cots), lavatory, storage area, and then it was back to the main common area. Sam still felt the ship was a little unnervingly beat-up looking, but he had to admit there was a certain charm to it that made it feel cozy and comfortable.  
  
Bela and Ree returned to the cockpit while Sam and Bobby opted to get some actual shuteye. They made themselves as comfortable as they could on the cots. It took some time for Sam to quiet his mind and fall asleep in the unfamiliar place (forcefully not dwelling on events earlier that day), but he soon managed to drift off.

He slept for several hours, and then the small crew of the _Impala_ spent the latter half of their journey in a similar manner as the first half: chatting, playing games, dozing, sampling some foodpacs, and turning in for another quiet ‘night’.

  
~

 

Bobby woke him some time later with a gentle shake.  
  
“Bela said we’ll be there pretty soon, so you might as well get up,” he said.  
  
Sam yawned, nodding, and followed Bobby out to the common area where Ree and Bela were playing another round of Dejarik. He stretched and rolled his shoulders.  
  
“Sleep all right?” Bela asked, not taking her eyes off the holographic creatures scattered across the board.

“Yeah,” Sam answered with a shrug. Well as could be expected given the circumstances, he figured.

He unhooked the lightsaber from his belt and turned it over in his fingers. His mother’s lightsaber… now his. Sam took a deep breath and began practicing with the remote again while the girls finished up their game. Bobby sat beside Ree to watch.  
  
Ree had just managed to outsmart Bela when a soft _boop_ sounded and repeated. The pilot and co-pilot immediately stood, heading for the cockpit.  
  
“Nearly there,” said Bela. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Care to get your first look at Alderaan?”  
  
Sam deactivated his lightsaber and followed her, Bobby right behind him. They took their seats in the cockpit, as Bela and Ree sat down and made the necessary preparations to exit hyperspace. Bela grasped the silver handle in the center of the console and gently pushed it towards the window, the opposite of what she’d done hours earlier. The streaking stars beyond slowly shortened to pinpricks.

Suddenly, the ship rocked and bucked as flying objects smashed into the hull. Bela swore and Sam jumped, heart banging into his throat.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“Something’s wrong – we came out in some sort of debris field,” reported Bela, frantically flipping switches. “Ree, shields – we’re getting hammered.” To Sam, she added, “Meteor collision or something – it wasn’t on the charts or the radar.”

Bobby’s eyes darted between all the pieces jumbling past the ship. “Where the hell is the planet?”

“It’s gone,” said Bela in astonishment. She swivelled in her chair to jab at a screen and a number of buttons. “That’s impossible – this is where it should be.”

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” asked Sam. “Maybe…”

“Of course we’re in the right place,” Bela snapped and gestured at the ship’s readouts. “This is the correct system, correct coordinates, but Alderaan isn’t here.”

Sam felt like a block of ice plunged into his stomach. The planet was nowhere in sight but they were surrounded by rocks and chunks of unidentifiable material. He swallowed, fearing the worst.  
  
“I have no idea how the hell this happened,” Bela muttered. “The whole planet’s just bloody gone...”  
  
A proximity alarm sounded and Ree clicked with agitation.  
  
“What the hell?” Bela said, at the same time Bobby grumbled, “What now?”  
  
An Imperial TIE fighter roared over the top of the _Impala_ , tossing a few laser shots at the ship.  
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me. How did they find us?” Bela grabbed the controls and took off after the ship, veering to the right. “Ree, jam its transmissions before it can identify us.”  
  
“I don’t think he followed us,” said Bobby, his voice low and ominous.  
  
“He’s right,” Sam nodded. “It’s a short range fighter.”  
  
Bela replied irritably, “Then where else could it have it come from?”

Bobby and Sam glanced at each other. Sam knew he was thinking the same thing he was: the Death Star. What else could have made an entire planet disappear? Sam moved his hand to his belt, fingers seeking out the chip containing the battle station’s plans.  
  
She gunned the engines, and instructed Ree to ready their weapons to take down the TIE fighter. They couldn’t have an Imperial scout running back and informing their bosses that they’d spotted the _Impala_.

Bela gained on the fighter. An object in the distance that looked like a small silvery orb hovered amongst the stars.

“That,” he said, pointing.  
  
“And what’s that?” asked Bela.  
  
“Have you heard about the Empire building a massive weapon?”  
  
“Sure, who hasn’t? Rumors are everywhere about it,” Bela shrugged. To Ree, she said, “Take him down.”  
  
“No, turn around,” Bobby told her sternly. “Get us out of here now.”  
  
“I’m not letting him get away,” Bela promised.  
  
“ _That’s_ the weapon,” Sam cut in, pointing at the sphere. It loomed ever closer, now the size of a moon.  
  
“Turn around!” Bobby shouted.  
  
Ree blasted their weapons as Bela steered. The bolts sailed past the fighter as it dodged and accelerated.  
  
“Leave him and go!” Bobby grabbed Bela’s chair and gave it a shake.  
  
Bela huffed, shooting a ‘back off’ glare at Bobby, but she listened this time and slammed the ship into reverse. Except the ship didn’t respond properly. Instead it shuddered and jolted... and kept moving forward.  
  
“Bela, turn the hell around,” said Sam insistently.  
  
“I _am!_ ” she returned hotly. “Ree, lock in the auxiliary power – all the way.”  
  
Ree clicked and waved her long arms. Bela’s eyes widened.  
  
“What?” Sam demanded.  
  
Bela wrestled with the controls, but the ship continued towards the sphere. They could now clearly see details on its surface – it was most definitely not a moon.  
  
“Bela! Get us out of here!”  
  
“I can’t,” she replied through clenched teeth and finally released the controls. “We’re trapped in some sort of tractor beam.”  
  
“We’re what!?”  
  
“We’re stuck, lads, I’m afraid we’re going in.”

Bobby and Sam were instantly on their feet in protest, talking over each other and Bela. They’d escaped a small band of troopers on Tatooine only to fly straight into the heart of the Empire with the stolen plans the Imperials were chasing them for.  
  
“There’s nothing I can do!” Bela hollered at them and they quieted. “There’s nothing I can do,” she repeated calmly. “But if you would relax a moment, I have a plan. I am not one of the best smugglers out there for nothing, you know.”

 

~

 

Darth Azazel was in his chambers, enjoying victory and a glass of Idlewil liquor. He’d cracked Winchester, taken everything from him, and the Rebels were about to be in his grasp. Azazel had sent probes out immediately to Dantooine following Dean’s admission of the Rebels’ location, and now he only had to patiently await the news that those degenerate, pain in the ass, wretched traitors had finally been found.  
  
After that, all he had to do was blast them into atoms while Winchester watched, before executing him too. Azazel couldn’t wait to see the look on his pathetic face – it was going to be so worth all the anger, pain, and shame that the little shit had put him through over the years.

Azazel laughed softly and took a deep swig of the liquor. It was sweet and burning, with a spicy aftertaste and he relished it. The stuff was damn expensive and hard to come by, but every swallow tasted like triumph and he loved it.  
  
A light flashed on the comm panel on the wall and Azazel stood with a grumble. He’d given strict instructions not to bother him for a couple hours unless it was extremely important, but he found most idiots in his employ struggled greatly with simple instructions. He flexed his left fist while his right reached up to tap the comm.  
  
“This better be worth my time,” he growled in warning.  
  
“My lord, the probes have returned from Dantooine,” the commander on the other end reported. “They found the remains of a base, but it has clearly been deserted for quite some time.”

Darth Azazel felt an animal rage coil up inside him and it was with a great amount of willpower that he didn’t kill the messenger delivering him this news. Instead his glass of liquor sailed across the room to shatter against the far wall.  
  
He’d lied – that stinking _son of a bitch_ Winchester had lied!

Azazel ground his teeth as the furniture in the room lifted a few inches off the floor. Dark waves of the Force pulsed through him.

“Further, we’ve captured a ship entering the remains of the Alderaan system,” the commander continued. “We’ll be sure once we have it fully aboard, but based on preliminary scans, we’re fairly certain it’s the same ship that escaped our forces on Tatooine.”  
  
The furniture settled with a collective set of thuds and thunks. Darth Azazel’s shoulders relaxed. _Interesting._

A ship from the same planet as that empty escape pod, a ship that jetted out of Mos Eisley against protocol to avoid encountering Imperial troops, that outran a set of Destroyers, and that was bound for Alderaan... conveniently the same place Winchester’s supposed counsellor ship had been heading? Well, that sounded like an awfully lucky coincidence.  
  
“Hold off on Winchester’s execution,” he ordered. If whoever was aboard this ship was trying to return the stolen plans to Dean, the traitor could still be useful. “I’ll be there shortly,” he added and flipped off the comm.  
  
Azazel smiled. _When one door closes..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #2
> 
> Lisa: Before Dean ever met Bela, he met Lisa. He was on a mission to gather intel, she was an innocent nobody on a Mid Rim planet. He liked her very much after only a few days of being in the town and getting to know her. He came back to visit her over the year after his mission was over, and at some point, a group Imperials were tipped off to Dean’s presence – he never found out how he’d been discovered. There was a raid on the town, and though Dean made a clean escape, he couldn’t save Lisa. A half-dozen civilians were killed and the Rebel Alliance was blamed for their deaths. Among the dead was Lisa, and Dean never forgave himself for loving her or for getting her killed.


	8. Chapter 8

A full minute after the footsteps above their heads had completely receded, Bela cautiously popped open the lid of the compartment she and Sam were sandwiched into. She waited another few seconds, peering between the crack of the lid and the floor of her ship. Bela fully slid the panel out of the way and slipped up out of the compartment.  
  
“I always knew these would come in handy for more than just hiding goods,” she quipped and extended a hand to help Sam climb out. “Although I can’t say I much minded being pressed into a tight dark space with you, Sam.”

She winked and he fought the warm flush that crept across his features.

Ree and Bobby extricated themselves from the second compartment a couple of feet away.

“Now what?” Bobby dusted off his hands.  
  
“Don’t look at me,” said Bela, crossing her arms. “I got us this far. Your turn.”  
  
Sam bit his lip and scrunched his brow. “I think I have an idea.”

 

~

 

Bobby was not a fan of Sam’s plan. While he agreed he had no better course of action in mind himself, he felt Sam’s idea was too risky. Bela scoffed at the older man and reminded them that waiting around inside the ship was even worse than Sam’s idea. Any minute now, the Imperials would send a scanning crew aboard.  
  
“They’re not stupid,” she told him. “They know it’s a smuggling ship. A little captain’s log message isn’t going to stop them from scanning the ship just to make sure we’re well and truly gone.”  
  
Bobby didn’t have a counterpoint to offer, so he took the blaster from Sam’s hand and hid in the alcove by the _Impala_ ’s entrance as the younger man had instructed.

The pair of men in the anticipated scanning crew were blindsided. The moment they were out of the sight line of the guards outside, the scanning men were knocked unconscious, bound, gagged, and stashed in the common area of the ship. Sam casually called down the ramp, asking for some help unloading the scanning equipment. As expected, a trooper came hurrying up the ramp. They dispatched him next, and while Bela stripped him of his armor, Sam and Bobby lured two more troopers into the ship.  
  
The armor was ill-fitting on them all: Sam was too tall, Bobby too round, and Bela too slim. But it would do, so long as they acted like they belonged. They weren’t planning to stick around for too long anyways.  
  
The only problem was Ree. She was far too tall and skinny to fit into any set of trooper armor and too green to move about the station unnoticed. Sam reluctantly suggested that Ree stay behind to keep watch over the ship and the unconscious Imperials. This earned him freezing glares from Ree and Bela both; the former of which snapped and clacked at him fiercely.

“I’m not going without my partner,” Bela said icily.  
  
“Then either you stay with her or you come up with a way to get her out of here inconspicuously,” Bobby grumbled.

Once again, it was Sam who came up with a workable solution. He pulled a set of binders from the belt of his armor and offered them to Bela with a shrug.

“The prisoner schtick?” Bela raised her eyes at him. “That’s actually not bad.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Sam retorted. “I did come up with the disguise idea too, remember.”

“You’re right, darling, you’re positively on _fire_ ,” she teased.  
  
Ree was much less impressed with the prisoner idea but she reluctantly agreed to wear the cuffs and play the part.  
  
“It won’t be for long,” Bela promised.

Bobby exited the ship first and sent the other soldiers standing guard in the hanger bay to a different post, supposedly on commands from higher up. They filed out without question since Bobby’s armor denoted he was of a higher rank than they were.  
  
The older man waited and then gave the all clear signal up the _Impala_ ’s ramp. Sam, Bela, and Ree hurried out of the _Impala_ and across the bay to the nearest set of doors. They stood back while Bobby accessed the computer terminal nearby for a simple map, and then were on their way to a control hub one floor up that overlooked the hanger bay.  
  
Sam had to concentrate to keep his pace regular as they walked down the brightly lit corridors. Every time they came across an Imperial or another trooper, he was sure they could see right through their act, and at any second alarms would blare announcing intruders.

His every muscle was tense, waiting for discovery, waiting to be caught and trapped. The inside of his armor was soggy with sweat.  
  
“Act natural,” Bobby advised under his breath.  
  
“Right, because it’s natural to be impersonating an Imperial Stormtrooper,” Sam hissed back. “And in armor that is obviously too small!”  
  
He ignored Bela’s chuckle behind him.  
  
They reached the control hub without incident, though Sam still couldn’t relax. The door slid up with a _swoosh_ when they approached it. The man in Imperial garb who’d been about to exit looked surprised, then Bela shot a blaster bolt through his chest. His comrades were on their feet but didn’t have the chance to do anything before Sam and Bobby had dispatched them too.  
  
Bela shut and locked the door behind them while Sam uncuffed Ree. Bobby slid the unmoving bodies of the Imperial men into the server closet to the left of the entrance. Sam yanked off his helmet to get some air on his overheating head.  
  
He tried really hard not to think about what he’d just done – he’d never shot or killed anyone before. Bela meanwhile, looked entirely nonplussed as she shook out her hair.  
  
“That went as well as it could’ve, I think,” she said and took a seat in one of the cushy black control chairs. She gave it an experimental spin before facing the computer screens and controls spread before her. She began typing rapidly.  
  
Sam swallowed and removed his gloves so he could wipe at his forehead. Bobby was suddenly at his side, and Sam couldn’t help thinking his friend looked strange without the baseball cap he was used to seeing him wearing.  
  
“Hey, you doin’ okay, son?” he asked, placing a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I... I’ll be fine.”  
  
Bobby eyed the younger man like he wasn’t sure he believed him, but he didn’t say anything further on the matter. Instead, he turned to Bela.  
  
“All right, that settles Phase 1. I’m ready for Phase 2.”  
  
“Working on it,” Bela replied without glancing away from the screen in front of her.  
  
“You sure about this?” Sam questioned. The next step to getting off this deadly station had been Sam’s idea, but he was still uneasy about it. Particularly the fact that Bobby insisted on doing this part alone. “I could still go with you.”  
  
“We’ve been over this,” Bobby frowned. “It’ll be easier for one person to do it undetected. Besides, if something happens to me, it’s not a big deal. _You_ can’t be lost – you’re too important.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Sam snapped. “You’re all the family I have now, Bobby. I can’t lose you too.”  
  
“Yeah, well, right back at you,” the older man grunted, but Sam could tell how much he meant it despite his rough tone.  
  
Bela cleared her throat. “I’ve located the path of least resistance for you, Bobby.” She pointed to the screen, where a path to the tractor beam control hub was highlighted.  
  
He leaned forward, taking several moments to study it and commit it to memory before stepping back. He retrieved his stolen trooper helmet.  
  
“Right, once I shut down the tractor beam and magnetic forcefield, meet me at the ship, and we can get the hell out of here.”  
  
“Good luck, Bobby,” said Sam. “Be careful.”  
  
Bobby nodded at the pair of them and Ree. “You too.” He popped on his helmet, scooped up his gun, and exited the control hub.  
  
Sam locked the door behind him and sat down in the chair beside Bela with a heavy sigh.  
  
“Your plan is a good one, Sam,” she assured him. “And contrary to how he looks, Bobby seems like a smart fellow. He’ll be all right.”  
  
Sam couldn’t help smiling a little. Her attempt at humor didn’t particularly ease the tension knotting up his gut, but he appreciated it nonetheless.  
  
She returned her attention to the computer screens and typed idly. Sam put his feet up on the console. Behind him leaning by the door, Ree exhaled in loud rush. Now they had nothing to do but wait.

 

~

 

Bobby moved deliberately through the halls of the Death Star. His senses were on high alert, and he was anxious, aware that something could go wrong at any moment. But no one gave him a second glance. The corridors closer to the hanger bay were less populated than the rest of the station; activity spiked the closer he got to the station’s core. There were hundreds of workers and soldiers with varying uniforms and he was simply another one among many, which made his job infinitely easier.

He straightened his back and walked like he knew where he was going, all the while silently repeating the directions he’d made himself memorize while staring at the screen Bela had brought up for him – _two lefts, one right, straight to the second set of turbolifts, down six floors, straight, right, right, left..._

As Bobby fell into step behind a dozen other white armored troops, a man dressed all in black came swooping out of a lift up ahead. Trailing behind him was a group of grey-suited command-level Imperials, but it was the man in black that made Bobby falter and struggle to stay calm.   
  
There was no mistaking those yellow eyes.

_Bobby feared the worst – knew it before they saw it. John smashed open the doors to the bedroom. Mary’s body was a tangle on the floor, a massive smoking wound in her chest. A man dressed all in black stood over her lifeless form. He gripped a brilliant red lightsaber and turned to face John, Bobby, and Ellen, a sick grin on his face. “Welcome home, Winchester,” he sneered, yellow eyes glinting..._

Bobby took in a shuddering breath. He locked his arms at his sides and fought against his quivering knees. He had to keep his feet marching forward, keep his head from turning. He used all his strength to contain his anger and not blow his cover by shooting down the Sith that had murdered his best friends.  
  
He blinked fiercely inside his helmet and forced himself focus on Sam, on Dean’s message, on how important it was that Sam made it out of this place alive. He wouldn’t be able to do that if Bobby didn’t stick to the plan and take that tractor beam out of commission. And he couldn’t do that if he was busy being arrested or shot for killing that yellow-eyed S.O.B. in the heart of the Imperial’s base of operations.  
  
Bobby sucked in one deep breath after another and compelled his feet onward.

 

~

 

Sam lounged beside Bela, trying not to feel every single second that passed by far too slowly. He watched her flick through the Imperial’s database for anything interesting, coming upon a list of several Detention Blocks and prisoners confined to them. He was about to find something else to occupy his attention when his eyes caught on a familiar name.

“Wait, go back,” Sam sat up straight in his chair.  
  
Bela tapped a few keys to show the information she’d been lazily flipping through.  
  
“See something you like?” she quipped.  
  
Sam leaned close to her screen to double-check he wasn’t just seeing things. “Oh my God,” he whispered.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
He jabbed at the name on the screen: _Dean Winchester_.  
  
He heard Bela’s breath hitch slightly behind him. Sam could barely believe it. Maybe getting sucked into the Death Star had been a good and fateful event after all.  
  
“That’s him – that’s the guy we’re delivering the message for. He’s here!”  
  
Sam clicked a few keys on the keyboard to bring up the status of the prisoner and his whereabouts. His heart tumbled into his stomach. Beside Dean’s name was the word: _TERMINATE_. His was one of only two names slated for execution that day.  
  
Bela’s voice was toneless and disinterested when she said, “Wonderful, so he’s here.”  
  
“We have to save him.”  
  
“We absolutely do not,” Bela scoffed.

Sam whirled on her. “Bela, they’re going to _execute_ him.”

“And that is very tragic, but also very much not our problem.”

“Come on, we need him,” Sam wheedled. “He’s a leader for the Rebels – we can’t just leave him here!”  
  
“I don’t care if he’s Chancellor of the whole damn galaxy, I’m not risking my neck to bust him out of an Imperial prison,” said Bela hotly. “I have already gotten far more on this journey than I bargained for with you lads. I want to get out of here and get rid of you before you get me killed or arrested or both.”

“They’re going to _kill_ him!”

“Better him than me, I say.”  
  
“Bela, please,” Sam pleaded. “I can’t go get him by myself.”  
  
“No. Absolutely not. The plan – _your_ plan – was to stay put until the old man disabled the tractor beam. Since that provides the least opportunity for me to be discovered and shot, I’m sticking with it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned.  
  
Sam bit his lip. He’d known Bela for a very short time, but it didn't take long to figure out she was generally selfish and put self-preservation as her top priority. She’d made it clear on the trip to Alderaan that she was only doing it for the money.  
  
_Money_.  
  
“I’ll pay you,” Sam blurted. “If you help me get Dean out, and once we escape to a safe location, I’ll get you more money for helping me.”  
  
She tossed her hair, cool and indifferent, avoiding his gaze. He could tell he had her attention.  
  
“How much more?”  
  
Sam thought of the savings he’d stashed away in the bank over the years in the hopes of one day buying his way off Tatooine. It was meagre, certainly not enough to tempt Bela. He didn’t want to speak for any money Bobby might have; he’d already sold a large portion of his belongings to pay Bela’s first fee.   
  
“A lot,” said Sam, much more confidently than he deserved to be. He hoped the Rebels would be so grateful to have Dean back they’d be able to pay Bela.  
  
She tossed him a skeptical look. “That’s very specific.”  
  
“I’ll make sure you get rewarded _handsomely_ ,” Sam coaxed. “As long as you help me rescue Dean Winchester.”  
  
Bela pursed her lips and twirled the chair she was in. When she came back around, she leaned around Sam to address Ree.  
  
“Well? You’ve been awfully quiet. Care to chime in?”  
  
Ree spread her long webbed fingers. She clicked and squeaked in response, then pointed at Bela, whose cheeks promptly flushed bright pink.  
  
“What?” Sam glanced between them. “What’s she saying?”  
  
Ree snapped and clacked, finishing with a shrug. Bela stared down at her hands briefly before returning her attention to Sam.  
  
“Very well, Sam.” She was back to her usual cocky, blasé attitude as she stood. “Providing I get the sizeable paycheque you’re promising me at the end of all this little adventure, I’m in. So’s Ree.”  
  
Sam was curious about what exactly Ree had said to convince the other woman, but he didn’t want to waste another minute. He grabbed his helmet.  
  
“Then let’s go get him.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wanted to say, in case you didn't read the tags, that there is some character deaths in this fic, and at least one Major Character Death. I _do_ want you to be caught off guard by them, so I won't warn when they're specifically coming up. They're not majorly graphic, but a couple are moderately graphic and certainly upsetting. So this is your warning that that will happen at some point. ;)
> 
> (sorry.)

Bobby was nearly there. He’d reached the last hallway without incident, hardly daring to believe his luck. He’d been no slouch at infiltrating enemy camps back in the war, but that had been over twenty years ago now. It was good to know he still had the touch.  
  
A trio of Stormtroopers were milling about shooting the breeze when Bobby approached. In his best command voice, he told them they were wanted in CB-9 Block for a training exercise. One of them began to question Bobby and he promptly chewed him out for not following orders.  
  
“Did I stutter, soldier? You have five seconds to get your asses to CB-9 before I take up your ID numbers and report to your direct supervisor!” Bobby bellowed.  
  
All three promptly scurried away in fear, mumbling hasty apologies. Bobby allowed himself a satisfied smile inside his helmet. This was the advantage of managing a network of people with fear and threats in a gigantic multi-level space station: they jumped when you said jump. He figured it would take some time before his false orders were properly discovered.

The controls for the beam, Bobby found, were conveniently positioned on the side of large cylindrical console attached to the side of a narrow catwalk, suspended over a cavernous, wide open power trench.

“Balls!” Bobby hissed. He wanted to punch out the genius who’d designed the set-up.

He supposed it was logical. No random person could easily access and disable the beam. But he didn’t do heights. The catwalk alone was enough to make him sweat, let alone where the controls were situated, on that narrow rounded ledge.  
  
He doubted he had long to get at those controls. If someone discovered him he had no excuse, troop uniform or not, that would explain his reasons for being there. So Bobby dug deep, and did not look down and did not think about falling to his death. He walked to the middle of the catwalk, grabbed the handle on the console, and began to shimmy along the ledge inch by inch. He hugged the console tight and reached for the beam controls.  
  
The beam powered down with a soft _boop_ noise as Bobby lowered the lever. He thanked every star he could think of that he’d run into a similar (if far older) set up years ago in an Imperial base he and John had made a run at capturing. If he hadn’t done something like this previously, he probably wouldn’t have known which switches to flip or handles to pull.  
  
There was no way the loss of the tractor beam would go unnoticed. Bobby only hoped that he and the others could make it to the _Impala_ before the issue was resolved or they’d be back at square one.

 

~

 

It was back to the prisoner routine for Ree, Sam, and Bela, as they ascended in the lift to Detention Block AA-23. Sam’s mouth was paper dry and he could tell Bela was nervous too. She’d refrained from making snarky or flirtatious comments under breath for more than a full minute. He adjusted his stance and his gun.  
  
The doors to the lift opened and the three stepped out into the Detention Block. Straight ahead was a control hub: a wide circle of consoles, at which sat a pair of command Imperials. Beyond them lay a long hallway lined with cells lit with dim white lights.  
  
The man in the centre of the hub, wearing dark gray command clothes, turned and observed Sam, Bela, and Ree curiously. He did not look pleased to see them.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
Sam took a step forward while Bela kept a grip on one of Ree’s shackled arms. “Scanning crew found her on the captured ship,” he said. “We were told to bring her here.”  
  
The man raised his eyebrow. “By whom?”

“Our commander,” supplied Bela, forcing her voice into a low, male-like tone. Sam would’ve laughed if he wasn’t shaking inside his suit.  
  
The commander looked Ree up and down then glanced over his shoulder to the other worker at the console behind him. “Any notifications of this?” he asked coolly.  
  
“No sir,” the woman answered. “No alerts of any kind.”  
  
The man faced Sam, Bela, and Ree grimly. “I don’t have authorization to accept this prisoner without direct transfer orders. I’ll have to clear it.”  
  
It took Sam a second to realize what the man meant by ‘clear it’.  
  
Several black-helmeted guards stepped forward, blasters outstretched. Panic spiked in Sam’s chest and he froze. Thankfully Bela was thinking on her feet.  
  
“Help – she’s loose!” she screamed, ducking for cover as Ree suddenly threw off her binders and began shooting the guards with Bela’s gun.  
  
Sam stumbled out of the way as Bela surged forward to clock one of the guards in the face with her armored hand. She scooped up his fallen gun and started firing. Sam followed her lead.  
  
Bolts flew back and forth, alarms blared, Sam ran and dodged, shot and punched. Bela took out cameras and blew away sensors. Ree clambered over the console to take care of the pair of Imperials hiding behind the hub. The whole thing was over in less than a minute, and the only ones left standing were Sam, Bela, and Ree.  
  
Sam yanked his helmet off. He sucked in a sharp breath. He felt claustrophobic and oxygen-deprived, but the smoky air that smelled like signed flesh wasn’t much better. He stepped over the fallen Imperials on the floor to reach Bela and Ree in the control hub. Ree slapped off various alarms. Bela’s fingers dashed over the keyboards as searched for information on Dean’s exact location.  
  
“What’s going on up there? Copy? Do you copy!” A tinny voice yelled through the nearest console.  
  
“Get that,” Bela instructed, still sounding out of breath. “I’ve got this.” She scrolled through the long list of prisoner names.  
  
Sam jabbed the communication button, cleared his throat and spoke, trying to hide the slight tremor in his voice.  
  
“Sorry about that, just a bit of a… uh, weapons misfiring… mishap,” he said.  
  
“It seems more than ‘a bit’ – all the cameras and sensors are fried,” came the worried voice on the other end.  
  
“Uh, yes, singed a little, but it’s all fine now!” Sam chirped with a wince.

Bela stopped reading names to look at Sam incredulously. _I’ve got this?_ she mouthed.  
  
“We’ll send a squad up to fix everything right away, don’t worry.”  
  
“Damn concerned fellow employee,” Bela muttered.

“Uh…” Sam hesitated, mouth hanging open like a stunned fish.

“Oh for – ” Bela shoved Sam out of the way, taking over and pointing at the screen she’d been at, indicating he take over. Into the comm, she said hastily, “Hold on that, looks like one of our weapons, er, blew a hole in the reactor – it’s most definitely not safe at the moment. We’ll evacuate immediately, so no need for a squad!”

Sam scanned the screen and spotted Dean’s name right beside the second prisoner also slated for execution. He noted both of the cell numbers and took off for the corridor of cells.

“Hold on, who is this?”said the voice on the other end of the comm, suddenly suspicious.  
  
Bela bit her lip, then aimed her blaster and shot the comm. She pressed the heel of her hand to her head as the console sizzled and smoked, dead.

“Hurry, Sam!” she called after him. “I think our cover is officially blown. They’re on their way!”  
  
Sam waved his arm in her direction so she knew he’d heard. He reached one of the cells he was looking for and slapped the lock button. The door flew open to reveal a man with short brown hair sporting a set of brown robes. He was sitting cross-legged on the bench at the back of the gray cell. Haggard and rough in appearance, his eyes were closed as if he were meditating. They snapped open and he stared at Sam.  
  
“Uh, hi,” said Sam. “Change of plans. You’re… free to go.”  
  
The man peered at Sam with a mix of astonishment and curiosity, and Sam got the uncomfortable sensation that somehow the man was looking through him – _in_ him, like a sort of mental x-ray. Sam backed out of the cell with a shiver and hurried on to Dean’s before he could regret saving two lives today. (He hoped it would be a start to make up for all the ones he was taking. He also hoped he hadn’t just accidentally set free a psycho serial killer or something. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.)  
  
Sam unlocked the cell three down from the strange man. Inside this one was the dark blond man from Bobby’s message. He was lying on the cell’s bench, feet up on the wall, arm slung over his eyes, humming some unfamiliar tune.  
  
“Time, huh?” he groaned, but sat up confused when he spotted Sam. “Who the hell are you?”  
  
“I’m here to rescue you,” Sam replied breathlessly. He could hear Bela shouting a warning down the hall that the cavalry had arrived.  
  
“What?” Dean’s eyebrows scrunched on his forehead. “Bullshit. This Azazel’s newest game?”

“No game,” Sam shook his head. “I got your message. I’m here with Bobby Singer and we’re trying to – ”  
  
“Bobby Singer?” Dean jumped to his feet and practically shoved Sam out of the way to get to the hall outside his cell. Sam anxiously followed.  
  
The peculiar man had emerged from the other cell and was standing in the corridor looking dazed. Dean’s features went slack with shock when he saw him.  
  
“ _Cas!?_ ” he exclaimed.  
  
The man whirled. “Dean!”

“You know each other?” Sam glanced between them in surprise.

Dean ran forward to embrace Cas in a quick hug, slapping his back hard before pulling back. “I thought you were dead.”  
  
Cas shook his head. “They captured us and slowly killed off the crew. They held on to me the longest, trying to force me into giving up our location. But you – ”  
  
“A little help here!” Bela hollered from the control hub.  
  
The doors of the lift were shut but sparking as the promised squad worked to breach them. Sam gripped his blaster and took off past Cas and Dean, who quickly followed.  
  
“Oh _hell_ no!” Dean moaned loudly the moment he entered the main area.  
  
“Why hello, darling,” Bela winked at him. “We have to stop meeting like this.”  
  
Sam almost got whiplash looking between Dean and Bela. “Wait, you know her too?”  
  
Before any of them could get another word out, the door to the lifts exploded.

 

~

 

Bobby was unobtrusively making his way back to the hanger bay when a number of alarms blared overhead. He nearly jumped out of his skin and was about to run for it, when he realized his fellow troopers were blowing past him without a second glance.  
  
_“Intruder alert,”_ a mechanical-sounding voice began repeating.  
  
Over the station-wide comm system, orders for back-up were requested in Detention Block AA-23. Bobby gritted his teeth and hurried after a group a fellow soldiers.  
  
_What did those idjits do?_

 

~

 

The group took cover as shrapnel flew, followed immediately by a haphazard cascade of blaster bolts. Dean scrambled to the nearest body with a gun and snagged a weapon, wasting no time in joining Bela, Sam, and Ree in firing back at the white-clad soldiers breaking into the Detention Block. Cas was somewhere behind him.  
  
Dean popped up to shoot at a couple troops bottle-necking in the lift before ducking down behind a control console again. He swore fiercely. Not that he wasn’t glad for a rescue party, but not only did this seem like the worst organized rescue party ever, _that woman_ was here and it never boded well for him where she was concerned.  
  
“What’s your next move here, kid?” he shouted over the din at the shaggy-haired guy who’d burst into his cell wearing a trooper’s uniform.  
  
“I don’t exactly have one!” he hollered back.  
  
Dean cussed again. Not only was there no plan, but they were getting hammered – they were already outnumbered and it was only getting worse as more soldiers arrived in the lifts. He yelled for the others to fall back and the group speedily retreated to the long corridor of cells. It was hardly ideal, but the supports on the walls stuck out a good few inches providing some semblance of cover, and the hallway narrowed the attack area.  
  
Bela took up a position directly across from him, while the kid ducked farther down the corridor with Cas and Ree.  
  
“Was this _your_ idiot plan?” Dean barked at Bela. “Cutting off our only exit?”  
  
“Hardly,” she said loudly and shot an oncoming trooper square in the chest. “I wanted to stay put then leave without you.”  
  
“So why didn’t you?”  
  
“Sam bribed me.”  
  
He would have laughed if a blaster bolt hadn’t fired past his shoulder at that moment, so close it left a sizzling streak on his shirt. This situation was going from very bad to very worse _very_ quickly.  
  
“Typical!” he responded scornfully.  
  
Bela wasn’t listening and instead aimed her blaster near the floor, left of his feet. She fired at the grate with a loud bang; it fizzled and disintegrated.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?”  
  
“Saving your fine ass,” Bela retorted. “Again.” She gestured to Ree and Sam then proceeded to slip through the hole she’d made in the grate.  
  
“Damn it, woman!” Dean shouted but she was already gone.  
  
Ree hurried after her, clicking and waving her hands.  
  
“She’s your friend,” he growled.  
  
Ree slid less gracefully into the gaping hole, squeaking as she disappeared down the chute beyond. Dean looked up to see what was keeping the kid and Cas, and spotted Cas talking urgently into Sam’s ear. Sam’s expression was hard to read as he pulled back, staring at Cas.  
  
“What’re you waiting for?” Dean yelled at them. “Let’s go!”  
  
He faced the end of the corridor and fired off another few bolts into the smoke. When he turned back, Sam was clambering into the hole and Cas reached out to grasp Dean’s shoulder firmly.  
  
“I shall see you soon, my friend,” he said with a small smile.  
  
For a split second, Dean didn’t understand. Cas was saying goodbye before jumping into the chute? He was a bit of odd guy, but that seemed a little –  
  
Then his brain realized what was happening as Cas took off _towards_ the layers of smoke and Imperial laser fire.  
  
“Cas!” Dean screamed. After spending months thinking his best friend was dead, Dean wasn’t about to lose him all over again. He took a step forward but was jolted backwards by some invisible force.  
  
Cas’s voice rang in his ears, and through his mind: _Go!_  
  
“Damn it, Cas!” Dean grit out, before diving headfirst into the chute.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam glanced up as Dean landed in a pile of garbage next to the rest of them with a huge _squelch_. Sam was still picking chunks of slop out of his hair from coming out of the chute and into the muck sideways. _That_ had been fun. He shook his head and spit, still tasting whatever-it-was on his lips and trying, really, really hard not to think about.

“Ahh!” Dean tried to keep his gun up out of the mess. “The garbage chute – great!Good one!” He shook away some of the debris clinging to his arm and scowled at Bela.

She was perched precariously on a mangled pile of debris, up and out of the thigh-deep sludge. “I didn’t see the rest of you offering any better alternatives,” she returned waspishly.

“Better than the garbage chute? How about _anything_ else?” Dean growled and began wading towards the man-door set in the wall across from him. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s get out of here.”

“Right, of course, because the rest of us are hanging out in the garbage for our health,” Bela rolled her eyes.

Ree clicked and squeaked with irritation from her spot near the door.

“The door’s magnetically sealed,” Sam piped up. “We’re trapped.”

Dean glanced incredulously between the three of them, then rounded on Bela. “You led us from being cornered by troops, which we could have fought our way past, into a sealed trash compactor? If it’s magnetically shut, we can’t even blast our way out!” He waved his gun at her.

“I didn’t _know_ it would be locked with no way to open it! At least we’re not getting shot at anymore!”

Sam dug in his suit’s belt compartments for the comm he’d stolen from the control hub earlier – its counterpart currently in Bobby’s possession. The intention had been to remain radio silent unless the situation was ‘hellfire and damnation dire’. He figured this counted.  
  
“Bobby!” Sam spoke loudly into the palm-sized, tube-shaped device. “Bobby, can you hear me?”  
  
Dean shushed Bela and faced Sam. “Is he there? Can he get us out of here?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m not getting an answer.”  
  
“Keep trying. It won’t take them long to figure out where we went.”

 

~

 

Azazel felt the tremor in the Force before a lieutenant reported trouble in Detention Block AA. His lip curled. _The Jedi woke up._  
  
“Orders, sir?” asked the commander at his side.  
  
“Put all sections on alert. Clearly someone has come to spring Winchester and his buddy from our prison.” Azazel spun on his heel and his cape flared out behind him as he marched towards the door.

“Not one of them leaves alive!” he roared over his shoulder.

Well, this put a bit of a damper on his plans for the pair’s execution. His fingers went to the lightsaber hanging at his belt.

He was going to have to improvise.

 

~

 

Castiel moved like a ghost from hallway to hallway, using the Force as his guide. He reached out to feel for other beings and was able to avoid troopers and Imperials almost effortlessly.  
  
It was incredibly refreshing to be able to just _do_ something after months locked in that cell. He could feel the Force flowing in him again – being stagnant for so long had been exhausting. Not to mention dealing with the initial interrogation tactics of the Imperials and Darth Azazel, intent on prying the location of the Rebel base from him. When they failed to get anything from him and killing his friends and crewmembers in front of him did not break him, they’d tossed him into a cell to rot.  
  
Castiel had long stopped wondering why they were bothering to keep him alive.  
  
The moment that boy, Sam, had opened his cell, Castiel had broken from his daily meditation. It felt as though he had been asleep, dead even, and the tremor in the Force Castiel felt in the boy’s presence woke him like a bucket of ice water to face. And, something about him was strangely familiar…  
  
When he discovered moments later that Dean, his best friend, was alive and free from a cell of his own merely a few doors down the hall, it was testament to how long Castiel had been locked away and how out of touch he was. He had never sensed his friend’s arrival at the Death Star.  
  
As Castiel wove down the bland corridors of the Death Star in search of Azazel’s private quarters, he looked forward to being free of this hellish place and properly reuniting with his friends.

 

~

 

“Bobby? _Bobby?_ ” Sam tried.  
  
“Still nothing?” Bela inquired dully.  
  
Sam sighed and raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Either he has it off, or the magnetic field in here is jamming the signal.”  
  
“Okay, we need to come up with another option to get out of here,” said Dean. He looked up at the ceiling but quickly dismissed the idea that they’d be able to exit the way they’d come. The hole was too high up. There were no other openings, small or large, and their blasters were useless on the door. He cocked his head at Bela.  
  
“Hey, you’re good at breaking out of things,” he shrugged and gestured at the door.  
  
“Correction, I’m good at breaking _into_ things.”  
  
“So break _into_ the hallway on the other side of that door,” Dean shot back.  
  
“With what tools?”  
  
Dean gestured to the chunks of metal and who-knows-what surrounding them. “Start searching.”  
  
Bela scoffed at him.

“Bobby!” Sam shouted into the palm-sized, tube-shaped device. “Bobby can you hear me?”

Just then, there was a loud, far away grinding sound, like massive gears turning. This was followed by a revving and humming sound – engines booting up. The three humans and Ree promptly fell silent. Dean’s stomach knotted.

“That can’t be good,” he mumbled, glancing around the filthy, debris-filled space.

“They’re turning it on,” Bela realized, her voice shaking a little.

She and Dean locked gazes and Sam tried more frantically to raise Bobby. He continued to receive no answer.

With a loud mechanical whirring noise, the walls began to close in.

Ree squeaked wildly and waved her arms around. Dean raced for the nearest wall, climbing through the grime and garbage.

“Brace them with something, hurry!” he hollered.

Bela hopped down off her perch with a splash to help Dean move a massive metal beam.

“Bobby! Where are you?” Sam wailed into the comm. “Help!”

“Of all the ways to die,” Dean groaned, struggling to hoist the massive beam up.  
  
Bela helped him level the beam horizontally between the oncoming walls.  
  
“Can’t say I’ve ever imagined this either,” she admitted. “And after all we’ve been through...”  
  
“Don’t start,” Dean growled.  
  
The walls chugged closer. As they closed against the thick beam, the walls slowed slightly, but the thing was designed to crush just about anything, so the difference the beam made was marginal at best. Sweat beaded on Dean’s forehead as he abandoned his plan and scrambled after Bela, out of the muck and onto the higher piles of garbage.  
  
“Sam, hurry!” he shouted, though there was nothing the kid could do except what he was already doing.  
  
“Bobby! Bobby! _Help!”_

 

~

 

So far Bobby hadn’t learned much about where his friends were or what the hell was going on. He followed groups of troopers rushing one way, he ducked into a hall and joined a different group rushing another way. There were intruders in the station, that much was certain, and they had attacked one of the Detention Blocks in order to free a few prisoners.  
  
The Imperials had since lost track of the attackers, and Bobby surreptitiously fell into step with a number of troopers being deployed to guard the captured ship in case the intruders were making a break for it. When they reached the hanger bay, Bobby hung back by a computer terminal, unsure what his next move ought to be.  
  
With a frown, he remembered the comms he and Sam had grabbed earlier, and flipped it on. With any luck, the kid had his on as well and they’d be able to figure out what the hell was going on. Previously when Bobby had tried to hail him, he’d only received static back.  
  
“-elp! Bobby! Come in, Bobby! Damn it, where the hell are you?!”  
  
“Whoa, calm down! Sam, what’s going on?”  
  
“Bobby!” Sam sounded incredibly relieved to hear his friend’s voice, but immediately resumed his desperate shouting. “Shut down all the trash compactors!”

“What?” Bobby was positive he’d heard wrong. Wherever Sam was, there was a ton of background noise. “Sam, say again?”  
  
“Shut down all the trash compactors! We’re trapped in one!”

“Oh, hell,” Bobby scrubbed his hand over his helmet-covered face. _Balls!_  
  
He had no clue how they’d gotten themselves into that situation and even less of an idea of how he was supposed to get them out of it. Even if he knew which compactor they were in, by the time he was able to get to it and open it manually to free them, it’d surely be too late. That left shutting them all down electronically, but how was he supposed to do that?  
  
“Do you hear me? Bobby, get us out of here!”

Bobby turned to the nearest computer terminal and let out a frustrated breath.

Unlike with the tractor beam set-up, this computer was one Bobby was not at all familiar with. He’d managed to locate a simple navigational map earlier, but to find operational controls? And controls for the garbage mashers? He jabbed at screen after screen, finding nothing helpful. Anytime he spotted something that looked promising, there was some authorization password required. He let loose a string of ugly words.

“Bobby, please, we’ve only got about a minute left…” Sam pleaded, panicked and strained.

“Don’t worry,” Bobby assured him. Except his heart was pounding with fear and sweat was glazing his forehead inside the helmet. He had no clue how to stop the garbage mashers and Sam was about to die and there was no way Bobby could stop it…

He straightened and cocked his gun, ready to grab the nearest Imperial and force him to shut down the compactors at gunpoint, when there was a hand on his shoulder. Bobby spun around, gun raised, but the man wasn’t dressed as an Imperial. Instead, he was sporting a set of brown robes and a calm, slight smile.

“Allow me,” he said and stepped forward to the terminal, pressing his hand to the screen and closing his eyes.

 

~

 

This was it. They were about to die.  
  
The walls were merely an arm’s length apart. Sam watched them inch closer, the trash and debris beneath him crunching and curling and squelching. He glanced helplessly at the others: Ree, green arms fruitlessly pushing against one of the walls, trying to slow its progress; Dean shoving his legs against one wall and his back to the other; Bela shutting her eyes and preparing for the worst.  
  
Sam thought of Ellen and the disc of plans he would never deliver to the Rebels. He closed his eyes and waited for his bones to splinter...  
  
Then the walls shuddered and Sam’s heart tripped over a few beats. The walls _stopped_. There was a split second of tentative, wild hope and total disbelief, followed by the four of them crying out in overwhelming relief.  
  
_“Sam?_ Sam! _”_ Bobby bellowed into the comm.  
  
“Bobby, you did it!” Sam exclaimed in response.  
__  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“Yeah, we’re okay – we’re alive. The walls stopped!” Sam laughed. “We’re okay,” he repeated, still hardly daring to believe his friend had saved them in the nick of time.  
  
The man-door unsealed with a loud _ka-chunk_ noise, and Dean whooped all the louder.  
  
“Thank you, Bobby,” Sam exhaled.  
  
“Hell, don't thank me,” Bobby grumbled. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

Sam scrunched his brow. “Then how – ?”

“Later. Just get yourselves out, and get to the ship.”

 

~

 

Bobby slumped with relief beside the terminal.  
  
“Son, I don’t know how the hell you did that, but thank you,” he said to the man in the brown robes. He held out his hand. “Bobby Singer.”

“You have an idea.” The man smiled slightly. “And you’re welcome.” He shook Bobby’s hand. “Castiel.”  
  
He placed his other hand gently on Bobby’s armored shoulder. “Take care of Sam. We’ll meet again soon, Bobby Singer.”  
  
Bobby didn’t have time to properly reply before the man swept away as silently as he’d appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #3
> 
> Chuck: An archivist on a Core planet, he mostly kept to himself and had nice, quiet life. He knew of the war raging out in the galaxy and didn’t know how to help or if he should, as he lived on a heavily Imperialized planet. Towards the end of the Rebellion, a woman on the run from the Empire (an Alliance-sympathizer) stumbled onto Chuck and begged him to hide her. He obliged, completely terrified, but the men pursuing her moved on. After that, Chuck realized that this could be something small he could do to help. He and the woman, one Sarah Blake, quietly set up a network to hide Rebels and get them off the planet.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam, Bela, and Dean ditched their trooper armor in the corridor outside the trash compactor. There was no point in wearing the things anymore, since their chances of being caught were about the same in or out of the dirty armor at this point. Sam for one, was very glad to leave the smell behind.  
  
“Well gents, let’s get a move on,” Bela said and started down the hall.  
  
“Uh-uh,” Dean stepped in front of her. “No way are you leading after _that_ little adventure.” Sam opened his mouth to interject but Dean held his finger up. “And neither are you after that idiot rescue plan.”  
  
“You ought to be grateful you’re not being executed right now,” Bela reminded him, planting her hand on her hip. “Instead of barking at us.”  
  
Ree clicked in agreement.  
  
Dean pointed at the green being. “Don’t you take her side like you always do.” He shook his head and turned to lead the way. “C’mon.”  
  
Sam cleared his throat. “So, you guys know each other?”  
  
“No,” Dean said quickly while Bela tossed her hair and replied at the same moment, “Obviously.” He shot her a glare over his shoulder.  
  
“And you knew that other guy, too – Cas?” Sam said.  
  
“Look, kid, how about we get the hell out of here and then we can swap stories and play catch up, all right?”  
  
Sam snorted. “’Kid’? C’mon, you’re barely older than me.”  
  
“If the shoe fits, Sammy,” Dean shot back.  
  
“Wow, _never_ call me that again.”  
  
Dean laughed.  
  
The foursome stopped to check the coast was clear before proceeding down the next corridor. Sam had no idea how Dean knew where he was going, but was glad he did. From what he’d experienced of the place so far, it was a maze. Everything looked the same.

“But seriously,” Sam tried again. “How do you guys know each other?”  
  
The tension between Dean and Bela was thick and the looks they shot each other spoke of volumes of history. Knowing Dean was a Rebel leader and Bela was... not exactly the most reputable smuggler, it seemed strange to Sam they would cross paths. Then again, she was an attractive woman unafraid of crossing the almighty Empire, and Dean was a man who openly defied them on a regular basis, so maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.  
  
Before either Dean or Bela answered Sam, they encountered a group of patrolling Stormtroopers.  
  
“There they are!” one shouted, and the soldiers raised their guns.  
  
“Run!” Dean hollered, though Sam hardly needed any encouragement as laser bolts singed his hair and clothes.  
  
Sam pelted down the corridor, the others hot on his heels and at his side. He ducked down a hall on the left and nearly ran head long into a group of startled uniformed Imperials. They shouted in surprise, but none of them were carrying any weapons.  
  
“Out of the way!” Sam yelled, waving his gun.  
  
The Imperials scrambled from his path and cried out for reinforcements.  
  
“Which way?” Sam barked over his shoulder.  
  
“Your guess is as good as mine!” Bela answered.  
  
Sam turned to ask Dean, and stumbled to a stop when he was nowhere in sight. Bela knocked into him.  
  
“What're you doing? _Run!_ ” she grabbed at his sleeve.

“Where's Dean? And Ree?”

“Right beh– ” Bela stopped when she realized her partner was missing as well. She paled. “Oh my God – _Ree!_ ” she called.  
  
Several white-clad troopers barreled up the hall and began firing. Sam seized Bela’s wrist and took off running full-tilt again, ducking laser bolts and firing haphazardly back at the troopers behind them. The pair careened down the corridor, whipped around another corner, and sprinted into a random doorway to lose the pursuing troops.

This, as it turned out, was a mistake. It only led to a dead end, a sort of storage alcove. The pair staggered to a stop and whirled, only to come face to face with a couple of troopers who’d managed to keep up with them. Bolts flew back and forth and Sam and Bela dove for cover behind some large metal crates.

Sam popped up and managed to clip the one trooper in the knee, but his partner was already shouting out their location and hollering for the other soldiers. Judging by the clatter sounding down the corridor, they were mere seconds away.

They were trapped.

 

~

 

Dean took a right, then another, until he’d almost done a full circle and ended up in the corridor adjacent to where they’d started. Finally Dean slowed, feeling rather proud of himself – he’d definitely lost the troops chasing them back there.

“Well,” he panted, but didn’t manage another word before Ree cut him off with a series of frantic clicks and squeaks.

 _Where’s Bela?!_ she snapped. S _he was right there!_

Dean spun in surprise only to discover Sam and Bela were nowhere to be seen. “Where’s the kid?”

 _I was following you!_ Ree clacked, waving her long arms anxiously. _Where did we lose them? Are they okay? Are they –_

“I don’t know,” Dean stopped her. “I know as much as you.” He cursed and raked his fingers through his hair, his thoughts racing. He added in a grim mumble, “I don’t know when we lost them.”

Did he and Ree go back and try to find Sam and Bela? Trust they’d find their way to the hanger bay? Had they been gunned down? Captured? He had no idea where they were, what had happened, where Bobby was, where Cas had jetted off to… How the hell was he supposed to come up with a semblance of a plan now, with their party so scattered?

Dean paced in a tight circle. Ree waited, twisting her green hands.

“If roles were reversed, she’d leave my ass, wouldn’t she?” Dean questioned the green being wryly.

Ree made a shrugging motion. _It depends on the day,_ she clucked with amusement. _But yeah, she probably would._

Dean heaved an irritated sigh. “Well, lucky for her, and probably _un_ lucky for us, I’m not her.” He squared his shoulders and readied his gun. “I hope I don’t regret this, but knowing her, I probably will. C’mon.”

 

~

 

For what felt like the fiftieth time in too few hours, Sam was sure he was done for. A group of Stormtroopers were closing off their only exit, and he and Bela had seconds until they were shot to death or captured. Bela dropped and hissed through her teeth.

“Bela!”

She clutched her upper arm. “It’s nothing,” she insisted.

Sam glanced at her and swallowed hard and tried to decide if surrendering would greatly shorten his already short life or possibly prolong it. He took a breath and made a motion to stand –

A great wail sounded, rather like a Rawwk on the hunt for food. There was an explosion of blasterfire from the corridor to the left, then the right, and several of the troopers were felled. Most of the remaining soldiers took off in both directions towards the sudden rounds of gunfire, leaving just a few behind to keep Sam and Bela cornered.

With the odds suddenly far more in his favor, Sam took advantage of the soldiers’ distraction and tugged Bela to her feet. He clasped the hand of her uninjured arm and leapt over fallen troops, firing any time he could get a clear shot.

The melee was over in a matter of seconds. An attack from three angles was too much for the troops to defend. Ree emerged from the smoky corridor on the right, while Dean came from the left, grinning proudly.

“Now _that’s_ how you rescue someone,” he said.

Sam slumped in relief against the nearest wall. He mumbled out a “thanks” and tried to calm his heartrate while he had a moment to breathe – something that was proving to be a rare occurrence ever since he’d set foot in this place.

Ree hastened to Bela who was still clutching her right arm. The green female clicked and clacked so fast the noises sounded like a single blur to Sam.

“You’re hurt?” Dean frowned, moving close to Bela to inspect her wound.

“It’s not bad,” she promised, letting Dean lift her hand away from her arm.

The rebel scowled at Sam, still holding Bela’s left hand. “You let her get shot?”

Sam opened his mouth to protest but Bela placed her steady other hand on Dean’s chest.  
  
“We were both a bit busy shooting back,” she said, her lips curling up with amusement despite the situation. “Really, darling, your protectiveness is adorable.”  
  
Dean snorted and dropped her hand. He stepped back so her other hand wasn’t touching his chest anymore. “I’m just disappointed _I_ didn’t get to shoot you first like I promised. Now shut up, and all of you stick with me this time.”

He gestured for them to follow and stalked away. Bela caught Sam’s eye and tossed him a wink and a flirtatious smile. Sam shook his head and followed Ree, wondering if he was ever going to understand what the hell had or hadn’t happened between Dean and Bela.

 

~

 

Castiel felt his presence long before he found Darth Azazel lounging against a wall in an otherwise deserted corridor. He was equally unsurprised to see that the Sith lord was expecting him.

“I was beginning to think we wouldn’t see each other after all,” Azazel drawled.

“I had to make a pit stop,” Cas replied dryly, and pushed back his robes to reveal his lightsaber hanging at his hip.

Azazel chuckled. “What can I say, I like collecting trophies of the Jedi I kill.” He stood up straight and advanced, spreading his gloved hands before him. “I have _quite_ the collection, too, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cas didn’t let the man before him goad him into acting irrationally. His jibe hurt, though. He’d felt sick in Azazel’s quarters, seeing firsthand evidence of just how many of his brethren the Sith had murdered during the Clone Wars and the Purge – and that was only for the ones he’d kept ‘mementos’ of.

“Except I’m not dead,” Cas retorted.

“You were supposed to be, today,” said Azazel. “I had a couples execution scheduled for you and Winchester.”

Cas pressed on, “You held me captive for months. You tortured me and killed my friends and crew.”

“Blah blah, yeah yeah, is there a point coming any time soon?”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” said Cas flatly. “When I was listless and without purpose.”

“You were good potential leverage,” Azazel corrected, eyes flashing. “And no threat to me. Kinda like an angry dog that you’ve beaten into submission – small and cowering in the corner. Waiting for the next beating or a reward and not knowing which is coming next.”

“Things have changed,” Cas replied.

The Sith lord adopted a mock regretful expression. “Sure they have, little puppy. It’s a shame, though – I was so looking forward to killing you in front of your master, too.”

Cas refused to react. He swallowed his emotions and reached for the Force to give him strength. He could feel the cold, dark waves rippling out from Azazel. Cas gripped his lightsaber, tense and ready.

Azazel laughed, low and guttural. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’ll simply kill you now, and dump your pathetic corpse at Winchester’s feet before I kill him too. Same result in the end.”

The Sith lord ignited his lightsaber, a beam of brilliant red, pulsing light. Cas flipped the switch on his own weapon, generating a column of vivid green.

Azazel bared his teeth in a nasty grin. “I’m going to make it hurt, Castiel,” he promised. “I’m going to make him pay for everything he’s put me through, every time he slipped through my fingers, and every time he and his Rebel shit friends had a so-called victory.”

He stepped slowly closer, his yellow eyes glinting with malice. “I’m going to make him watch while I burn his precious Alliance to the ground. Then I’ll cut the heart out of every damn Rebel that dared cross the Empire, and feed them to Winchester until he chokes.”

“Good luck with that,” Cas quipped, thoroughly finished with listening to Azazel’s threats.

Then in an instant, the Sith and the Jedi flew at each other in a flurry of red and green.


	12. Chapter 12

With Dean leading, and knowing where the hell they were going, Sam thought it was a lot easier to find their way to the hanger. Dean and Ree jerry-rigged a computer terminal to explode, located in precisely the opposite direction of where they needed to go, creating a solid diversion for the troops pursuing them.

The foursome finally reached an antechamber to the main hanger bay, where the _Impala_ was waiting for them – along with about a dozen Stormtroopers who apparently were staying put despite Dean’s diversion. Sam was glad for a second to catch his breath.

“No way,” Dean growled. “What the damn hell!”

Sam assumed he was referring to the troopers’ presence, until the other man rounded on Bela, his eyes on fire.

“Why is my ship sitting in the hanger bay of the damn Death Star?” he demanded in a barely restrained shout that almost blew their cover.

“ _Your_ ship?” said Sam.

“I won it,” Bela replied, tilting her eyebrow up.

“You stole it,” Dean retorted.

“Borrowed,” Bela shrugged and added in a firm tone, “By way of winning it in a bet.”  
  
Dean curled his hands into fists at his sides. “I had a friend taking care of it while I was out on a mission,” he said through clenched teeth. “It was not his to lose in the first place, so it’s sure as hell not yours.”

“Guys…” Sam attempted to interject.  
  
“I won it fair and square,” Bela countered coolly. “You can verify that next time you see your _friend_ , though I’d wager from the way you’re slowly turning purple, he’s not a friend anymore.” She smiled at him and laughed, like this was a game they played all the time.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to _kill_ him! And then you!”

“Guys,” Sam tried again, more insistent.

“Give it the hell back,” Dean ordered Bela.

Bela dipped her head down and looked up at Dean suggestively. “Win it back from me, darling.”

“Guys!” Sam snapped.

“Bela, I _swear_ – ” Dean began but was stopped when Ree clapped him roughly on the shoulder, gestured to Sam who rolled his eyes in exasperation and pointed to the hanger bay.

The others turned their attention to where Sam was pointing. The Stormtroopers were filing away, leaving the _Impala_ unprotected.

“What the...?” said Dean, trying to see where the troopers were going, but the entrance to the antechamber was surrounded by crates and containers, blocking much of the hanger from view.  
  
“Don’t question it – now’s our chance!” Bela started forward but a trooper stepped in front to block her path.  
  
The boys had their blasters up instantly, but the trooper put his hands up in a surrender position.

“Whoa, it’s me!” said Bobby from inside the white armor. “Are you idjits gonna stand around here all day? Get to the damn ship!”

Sam and Dean broke into twin smiles of relief before the five of them wasted no more time and made a break for the ship.

Halfway to the _Impala_ , they saw what had drawn the soldiers’ attention. Across a large, open lift shaft, the troops were gathered in front of the entrance to another corridor. Two men were battling with a pair of lightsabers, crackling with energy as they collided over and over. They were a swirl of black and red, green and brown, and no one was keeping watch over the enemy ship any longer.  
  
Sam slowed only briefly to watch the spectacle before hurrying towards the _Impala_ ’s unguarded ramp. He glanced back to make sure the others were following, and saw Dean lagging behind and coming to a stop, his eyes fixed on the raging battle across the hangar.  
  
“Cas?” said Dean softly, confused and dismayed.

 

~

 

“You cannot win,” Azazel hissed, slashing at Castiel in a wide arc.  
  
The Jedi deftly avoided the weapon and brought his own lightsaber up to meet it. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”  
  
Azazel twisted left, trying to get under Castiel’s guard, but Cas was ready and parried the blow. He stood his ground, met Azazel strike for strike and could felt the frustration building in his opponent, the desire to kill. Castiel breathed, focused, let the Force guide his movements. He became fire and liquid and moved to the rhythm of the fight.  
  
The Sith’s anger built and his attacks became more desperate. Cas could feel him drawing on the Dark Side as he charged, even stronger and more menacing than before. His yellow eyes flashed.  
  
Cas had only a split second of warning before Azazel swept his right arm out to the side and used the Force to rip a column of pipe from the wall. It barreled towards Cas. The Jedi threw out his own arm to stop the incoming object, and Azazel pressed his advantage in that moment of miniscule distraction. He was blindingly fast as he swung his lightsaber in a ferocious attack. Cas defended himself one-handed as he shoved the pipes away, but he had to stumble backwards a few steps to avoid the Sith’s weapon.  
  
Azazel bared his teeth triumphantly.  
  
A crate came flying at Cas next and he swerved out of the way. He managed to keep his lightsaber up to defend his briefly exposed back. Still, the red weapon sliced too close, cutting a shallow gash across Castiel’s left shoulder. He winced and spun away, using the Force to shove the crate in Azazel’s direction and buy himself a second to breathe.  
  
The Sith dodged the crate as easily as Cas had and launched himself at the Jedi with a fresh wave of relentless strikes.  
  
Cas felt a tremor in the Force that wasn’t coming from Azazel. _Sam._ _Dean._  
  
Azazel and Castiel’s blades crashed together and they held them, each straining to drive the glowing, sizzling blades to their opponent’s throat. The Sith growled and pushed harder, his features purpling with effort. Castiel struggled to hold him; his arms trembled.  
  
Distantly, he sensed that he and Azazel had an audience, and that the time had come.  
  
He hopped back and spun past the Sith and created a few feet of distance. Azazel stumbled slightly at the abrupt loss of resistance and pivoted to face Cas with a furious snarl. Cas chanced a look to his left and spotted Dean’s friends hovering at the entrance to their ship, Dean stood near the open lift shaft, watching the duel.  
  
Azazel glanced to his right and saw the intruders too. His eyes blazed with hate and in that second, Castiel could tell he had a moment of doubt: finish off the Jedi, or rush to kill Dean and fulfill his personal vendetta. Castiel wasn’t going to let him have that choice.  
  
Azazel began to raise his hand, began to take a breath.  
  
Castiel reached deep and far, and before Azazel had blinked, the Jedi threw a wave of the Force at him with colossal strength and extreme speed. Azazel faltered and fumbled to keep balance as he threw his hands up to block the blow.  
  
Cas felt the massive sap of energy flow out of him and prayed he could finish what he started and ensure his friend’s escape. He used the Force to flip the switch on the blast doors dividing him and Azazel from the hangar bay.  
  
The Sith was on his feet, recovered.  
  
Castiel shut his eyes and silently called through the Force to Dean: _Run!_  
  
Azazel advanced with a bellow of rage and swung his lightsaber.

 

~

 

Dean watched Darth Azazel lurch and then Cas reach out. He saw the blast doors begin to close, the troopers shuffle unsurely, and the red blade rise above his friend's head. He inhaled to call out in alarm, and he heard Cas’s voice echo through his mind: _Run!_  
  
The blade came down and the doors shut.  
  
“No!” Dean screamed hoarsely. _No, not Cas, not like this, not by Azazel, please no_ –  
  
“Dean!” Bela shouted somewhere behind him, but to his ears she sounded extraordinarily distant and muddled like she was underwater.  
  
At their cries, the group of gathered troopers rounded on them and began firing.  
  
“Dean, we have to go!” Sam hollered, and he was as faraway sounding as Bela.  
  
Dean gripped his gun and fired back on the troopers recklessly, blindly. Some fell, but more were pouring into the hanger bay, drawn by the commotion. His friends were bellowing his name, telling him to run.  
  
“He’s gone!” Bobby yelled in his ear, his trooper helmet gone, suddenly right beside Dean. He seized the younger man's shoulder with a strong hand. “Don’t let it be for nothin’, now _come_ – ”  
  
Bobby tumbled to the ground and Dean reeled backwards.  
  
“Bobby!”

The older man was face down with a smoking hole at the base of his back armor. Dean felt like his heart had walloped him in the throat and then broke into a million little pieces. _Not you too!_  
  
Sam, Bela, and Ree were there in the next moment. Ree and Bela laid down cover fire while Dean and Sam grasped Bobby under his arms and dragged him towards the _Impala_ ’s loading ramp. Blood rolled down the older man’s face in rivulets from where he’d struck his forehead and nose on the floor when he fell. Laser bolts flew in every direction, narrowly missing them.  
  
Dean had lost friends in battle, but if he lost Bobby, it would be his fault for not running when he had the chance. He could barely think, barely focus, as he and Sam pulled the older man into the med bay of the ship.  
  
Bela and Ree tore up the ramp and raced to the cockpit, slapping the control panel to close the ramp as they passed it. Dean was shaking as he helped Sam heave Bobby onto a cot and strap him in.  
  
“I got this,” Sam assured him, and Dean nodded mutely as the ship fired up around them.  
  
He hastened to the cockpit himself. He shoved every thought and emotion down into a dark place deep inside. Now was not the time to feel it; now was the time to get the hell out of here.  
  
Bela expertly maneuvered the _Impala_ out of the Death Star’s docking bay, wincing as the wound on her arm stretched with the motion.  
  
“Let’s hope he disabled that tractor beam, or we are most extremely screwed,” she mumbled.  
  
Ree flipped several switches and then Bela gunned the engine. Dean held on tight and flicked his eyes from the viewscreen to the controls spread before the two women. As the _Impala_ blasted away from the Imperial battle station, alarms sounded.  
  
“And now there’s that,” Bela said grimly. According to the monitor, at least half a dozen TIE fighters had been launched right on their tail. “You remember how to – ”  
  
Dean was already moving. “It’s _my_ ship!” he angrily reminded her. “Of course I do!”  
  
Bela was on her feet behind him. “Just checking. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” she teased.  
  
Dean didn’t respond as he reached the stepladder and pounded up the steps. The smuggler took the ladder down to the secondary guns.  
  
Once seated, Dean donned a headset and readied the guns. The feeling of the familiar chair at his back and controls beneath his fingers went a long way to easing the knot of fear and tension coiled in his gut. He was damn good at this part, if he did say so himself.  
  
“Heads up, darling. Here they come,” Bela reported over the comm.  
  
Dean spotted the fighters and swivelled to meet them. No way in hell was he going to go through all that crap – losing his crew, losing Alderaan, losing Cas right after finding him, possibly losing Bobby as well – only to be blown to pieces on Azazel’s doorstep.  
  
_The son of a bitch is probably loving this,_ Dean thought bitterly. _He’s going to love it a lot less when I crap all over his plans. He’s not killing me today._  
  
Dean fired at the TIE fighter in his sights. He loosed a number of laser cannon shots and the Imperial ship attempted to avoid them. Dean’s shot finally connected and the ship exploded in a bright orange and yellow fireball. He smiled with satisfaction and locked eyes on his next target.  
  
For several minutes, Dean was lost in a flurry of laser fire. He pivoted this way and that, aiming and firing, as Ree piloted the _Impala_ out of the Death Star’s range. Bela reported taking out a couple adversaries, but even after they had removed at least half of the fighters from the equation, several more showed up the party.  
  
“Damn it!” Dean fumed. “They keep coming!”  
  
“About what I was saying earlier?” Bela moaned into her headset. “The ‘extremely screwed’ bit?”  
  
_Hold on_ , Ree clicked over the comm, sounding astonished. _One of them is... one of them is firing on the others!_  
  
“What?!” Dean swivelled his chair and caught sight of the TIE fighter Ree was referring to, and indeed, it seemed to be taking down the other Imperial ships.  
  
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bela murmured in awe. “Either we have a friend out there or someone is very, very drunk.”  
  
“Whoever he is, he is sure confusing the hell out of his buddies,” Dean laughed. The remaining handful of TIE fighters were flying erratically, trying to avoid the blasts coming from the _Impala_ as well as the inexplicable friendly fire from their fellow Imperial ship.  
  
Within a few minutes, only a couple fighters were left, aside from the ‘friendly’ that worked to keep the others engaged. Ree took advantage of their distraction and kicked the _Impala_ into hyperdrive.

 

~

 

Castiel shut his eyes and silently called through the Force to the boy and Dean: _Run!_  
  
Azazel advanced with a bellow of rage and swung his lightsaber.  
  
Cas pin-wheeled away from the descending blade, but the split second he’d taken to warn his friend and the man who’d set him free cost him. The red beam cut and burned deep into Cas’ already injured shoulder. He cried out and swung his own blade in a blind, defensive arc, but Azazel had already pulled back out of reach.  
  
The Sith _tut-tutt_ ed and shook his head at the panting, kneeling Jedi. “You’ve overextended yourself, Castiel. And for what? To make sure those traitors escape my clutches?”  
  
Azazel laughed and fixed his atrocious yellow eyes on Cas. “It’ll all be for nothing. My men know their orders. They’ll be in pursuit of that ship the second it leaves the dock. If they haven’t already gunned down its passengers in the bay, of course.”  
  
He curled his lip in a nasty sneer. “Your little stunt accomplished nothing. You’re all dead anyway. Know that as I end you, Castiel.” He swept towards the Jedi, blade humming.  
  
Cas almost smiled. “I’m not done,” he warned. From beneath the folds of his robes, he produced an active proton grenade.  
  
He threw it straight and true at Azazel, who blanched and scrambled backwards, bringing his hands up to use the Force to shield himself. The Jedi used the last of his strength to clamber to his feet and sprint full-tilt down the hall.  
  
The explosion threw Cas off his feet and he smacked down hard on the black floor. Spots sparked in his vision and he struggled to stay vertical and keep running. Behind him, Azazel’s irate and agonized screams echoed off the corridor walls.


	13. Chapter 13

Once they were in the clear, Dean came to see Sam and Bobby in the small med bay of the _Impala_. It wasn’t much: a few cots, a handful of cupboards stuffed with medical supplies, and a small oxygen tank. Truthfully, until now, Dean hadn’t needed it for much more than stitching himself up after missions and close calls.  
  
His voice was rough as gravel when he asked, “How is he?”  
  
Sam sighed. “Alive, for now. I put some bacta salve on the wound and I stopped the bleeding on his head, but I’m not exactly a doctor, so I don’t know how bad it could be.” He shook his hair from his eyes. “We have to get him to someone who can help him.”  
  
Dean blinked away the moisture in his eyes. He hadn’t seen Bobby face to face in at least a few years, but the man had always been there for his father, always been there for Dean whenever he needed him. He kept up an encrypted database of Rebel safe houses, passed on information about Imperial movements, organized the smuggling of important vehicles, tools, and supplies – all from an isolated shack in the middle of a nasty desert on an Outer Rim planet. The man was a hero if there ever was one – a pillar of strength in the war against the Empire. To see him down for the count like this…

“We’re hurrying,” he assured Sam.  
  
“Where are we going?”

“To the base.” Dean cleared his throat to mask the emotion there. “You still got those plans?”  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
“Good.” Dean moved to leave the med bay but hesitated. “When we were outside the cells, in that firefight. What’d Cas say to you?”  
  
Sam avoided the other man’s gaze. “It’s not important right now.”  
  
Dean didn’t reply at first. He tried to wait Sam out, but the kid stared steadfastly at Bobby’s sleeping form, lips pressed firmly together.  
  
“Uh huh,” Dean finally said. “So ‘not important’ that he took a minute to whisper in your ear before walking in front of laser fire for us.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Guess so.”  
  
“So he just – ”  
  
“Look, can we talk about it later?” Sam interrupted firmly. He seemed rattled, but Dean didn’t want to let the issue drop. He needed to know if it had anything to do with Cas sacrificing himself for them all.  
  
“I want to know what he told you,” Dean pressed stubbornly.  
  
“You gonna tell me what happened between you and Bela?” Sam shot back.  
  
“Nope,” Dean replied without hesitation.  
  
The kid shrugged again and seemed to deflate as he returned to watching Bobby. “Then I guess we can focus on getting Bobby some help and talk about it later.” He hunched his shoulders away from Dean.  
  
Dean frowned, irritated, but reluctantly backed off. His curiosity about what his friend had said to Sam had been eating at the back of his mind, and now that things had calmed down, that curiosity was at the top of his thoughts again. Right alongside the image of Azazel’s red blade coming down over Cas’ head and Bobby crumpling to the floor at Dean’s side.  
  
The memories made his stomach churn and he couldn’t stand to be near the med bay anymore. Dean headed for the kitchen instead, intent on finding some alcohol to numb his guilt until they reached Hoth.

 

~

 

Either Bela had cleaned out his stores or hidden her booze extraordinarily well, because Dean couldn’t find anything worth drinking. He searched the kitchen high and low before attacking the common area. He moved on to hand-searching all of the hidden compartments he could think of, before finally heaving a frustrated sigh and circling back to the work room (at least he’d killed some time).

The work room was next to the main engine room. Most of his tools were strapped in above the workbench as he usually had them while traveling, though a number of them were in the wrong spots. This irked him and he spent several minutes putting everything back in its rightful place. He hoped seeing the tools rearranged would annoy Bela the next time she needed one.

To find something else to do, Dean dug through a bin of broken parts, eventually scooping up a battered compression coil. He needed to keep his mind off of Bobby, off of Cas, off of Alderaan and his parents…

He blinked rapidly when Bela entered the room. Her face was soft and sympathetic when she spotted him, emotions she rarely wore, as though she knew what was plaguing him.

“Are you – ” she began, but he sharply cut her off.

“I’m fine. Just want to get those plans to the base.”

She nodded, then hesitantly offered, “Do want a hand with that?”

“I can manage a fried compression coil, thanks,” Dean bit out. “I don’t need your help.”

Bela recoiled a little, and her tone had a cold edge to it when she replied, “And you’re welcome for the rescue earlier, by the way. I’m sure you didn’t need any help _then_ , either.”

“I could’ve managed.”

She laughed. “Of course. With Darth Azazel having scheduled your imminent execution and you locked in an Imperial cell, you clearly had the situation well in hand.”

He twisted too hard on the metal ring he was fighting to reattach and it popped off, pinging onto the bench, then falling and rolling across the floor.

“I said I didn’t need _your_ help,” he grumbled. He stooped to grab the metal ring and tried to re-affix it to the greasy engine piece.

Bela crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll remember that the next time your ass needs saving.” She winced a little and he remembered the bolt she took in the arm. He was tempted to ask if she was okay, but since she was sniping at him, she was clearly not too bothered by the injury.

He tossed a glare her way, but she remained nonplussed. “Don’t act all high and mighty, sweetheart, like you’re such a good person for rescuing me. I know you’re only in this for money. As per freakin’ usual.”

She didn’t deny it.

“How much is he gonna pay you?”

“The exact amount was unspecified,” Bela answered. “A lot, I imagine, as I’m now delivering stolen battle plans _and_ an important leader to them.” She examined her nails.

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Same old Bela.”

“And what exactly were you expecting? I’m not here because of your precious revolution – I never have been – I thought I’d previously made that very clear.” She rubbed at the bulge under the sleeve on her upper arm where she’d bandaged herself.

“Yeah, and _I_ thought I’d made it pretty clear I never wanted to see you again. Ever.” He stopped fiddling with the coil and pinned her with his gaze. “In fact, I specifically recall you actually promising that I wouldn’t.”

Bela snorted and rolled her eyes. “When I picked up those two boys on Tatooine, I was looking for a fare that I could pass on to Lillith and erase my debt. I didn’t intend to get caught in the middle of your galactic war.”

“ _My_ galactic–?” Dean took a breath, about to argue with her as he felt his temper rise, but he stopped himself just in time. They’d been around this block and it wasn’t worth his time.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, failing to hide the defensiveness in his tone. “You’ll get your precious money. And then you can be on your damn way.”

He could feel Bela’s stare, but by the time he looked up, she was flitting out of the room. He shook his head – _damn that woman_. He still regretted the missions he’d jeopardized in the past to save her ass, or even worse, just to see her (and then inevitably find himself missing something important or in deep trouble of some description, hours later).

 _Why I keep thinking one day she’ll actually use that heart buried somewhere in there…_ He gave his head another a shake. He was an idiot, and his extensive history with her only proved that point time and time again.

He sighed through his nose. The sooner he got rid of her this time, the better it would be for all of them – especially him.

 

~

 

Sam was idly playing a one-sided game of Dejarik when Bela joined him in the common area.

“How’s your friend doing?” she asked softly.

“He’s still sleeping. He woke up for a minute and… he… he said he couldn’t feel his legs.” His forehead creased with worry.

Bela pursued her lips. “Well, don’t fret until there’s cause to. I haven’t been to a Rebel hub like the one we’re going to now, but I’m sure they have top notch medical facilities to patch the old fellow up.” She offered Sam a smile. He returned it gratefully.

“How’s the arm?” He nodded at the small lump under her sleeve.

She gently rolled up her sleeve to reveal a rectangular bacta strip attached to her skin. “I’ve had worse.” She craned her neck and twisted her arm to inspect the injury. “Actually, probably should put a new one on – speed the healing a bit. Would you mind terribly…?”

“Not at all,” said Sam, and took a moment to retrieve a fresh bandage from the med bay. He stopped to check on Bobby, who was unchanged from when Sam had left him earlier.

Back in the common area, Sam got to work on Bela’s arm. He peeled off the bandage on her blaster wound and saw that the padding was no longer blue with active bacta. Bela hissed through her teeth.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured. He wrapped up the used strip.

The bolt had cut her pretty deep, but the bacta had already made progress on healing it up. He opened a new bandage, swallowed hard and looked away from the black and red slice in Bela’s skin.

“Really, Sam, it’s not that bad. You should see the other guy.”

He carefully dabbed a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic around the wound to clean up the inflamed skin.

“Or is it that you’ve never been this close to a girl before?” she teased and set her hand on his leg.

He chuckled nervously as he gingerly placed the new strip on her arm. He may have developed a small crush on Bela and her flirting with him was so not helping. Worse, she seemed fully aware of this fact and was flirting harder because of it.

He cleared his throat and sat back, his work finished. “There you go – all good.”

“Thanks, darling,” she said and rolled her sleeve back down.

Sensing this might be the only chance he might have for a while, and needing to take her away from flirting with him, Sam attempted to satisfy his curiosity.

“So…” he began. “I gotta ask. What’s the deal with you two? You and Dean?”

“Why don’t you ask Dean?”

“I did, but he won’t tell me anything.”

Bela smiled, amused. She leaned a little closer to him. “Let me put it this way, Sam. I’m a smuggler – some would say merc, probably with a variety of unflattering adjectives – and he’s the leader of a revolution. I frequent seedy pubs, meet with less-than-reputable contacts, fly trade routes. Your boy recruits people to join the Rebel Alliance, procures hard to find and often illegal items, and does his damn best to outrun and outsmart the Imperial Empire.” She shrugged and her smile this time was both telling and mysterious. “We’ve crossed paths a number of times.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. That was _so_ obviously not the full story, and he said as much.

At that moment, Dean came around the corner.

Bela glanced his way. “I’m sure if you asked especially nicely, Dean would be more than happy to tell you all about me.”

Dean shook his head, frowning. “Oh, sure, I’ll tell you about her,” he said. “She’s a lying, cheating, manipulative, selfish, bitchy – ”

“Stop, you're making me blush,” Bela deadpanned, looking a lot less amused. “You see Sam, the problem is, he hates me, but he also really, _really_ likes me, and that causes problems. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Dean glared at her like he hoped his eyes would cause her to burst into flames. It didn’t work, try as he might. She smirked, fake-sweet; triumphant and challenging all at once. Sam wondered if he should leave the room to give them some privacy or step between them lest they come to blows.

Ree clacked and clattered over the intercom and the spell was broken.

“My presence is required in the cockpit,” said Bela. “I’ll leave you gents to it. Thanks again, Sam.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Dean retorted. “Just so you know, when we land, I’m taking my damn ship back.”

“You think so, do you?” she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “When we land, _I’m_ going to make some repairs on _my_ ship.”

Dean mumbled something under his breath that Sam didn’t catch, and Bela visibly bristled. She turned to Sam and offered him a stunning smile. She trailed her fingers across his shoulder and Sam stiffened.

“Thanks for the chat, Sam,” she said and returned her focus to Dean, whose jaw was clenched tight. Sam shifted in his seat, not wanting to get dragged into whatever messwas between them.

Dean and Bela stared each other down for a moment, and an unspoken conversation passed between them before she pushed past him. He gritted his teeth, then shouted after her, “Six hypo-stitches on Spirana! And it _wasn’t_ his ship to give away!”

“You’re so dramatic,” she tossed back to him.

“I mean it! I’m going to kill him, then you!” Dean bellowed. Bela just laughed.

“Stitches? She… shot you?” Sam questioned after Bela’s retreating figure had disappeared down the corridor. He worked very hard to forget the sensation of her fingers on his shoulder. “And stole your ship?”

“Stabbed _accidentally_ , trying to get out of an Imperial melee, after creating a diversion so she could save her precious cargo instead of helping me,” Dean spat. He shook his head. “And I left this ship with a friend of mine – well, not a friend – and she up and steals it…”

“If he wasn’t your friend, then why did you – ”

“Could we talk about _literally_ anything else?” Dean snapped.

Sam whistled soft and low. There seemed to be an ongoing, never-ending argument between the pair, chock full of messy issues. In fact, most every word they said to each other was thick with it. Clearly whatever happened was a very sensitive subject.

 _Okay_ , he thought. _I am_ so _not getting into the middle of… whatever that was._ He was going to stamp out his little crush on Bela as fast as possible. He didn’t need to get tangled up in their obviously complicated history.

Dean settled on the cushioned bench across from Sam with an angry huff. “How do you know Bobby?” he asked abruptly. Sam took the hint and steered the topic away from Bela Talbot.

“He fought in the Clone Wars with my mom,” answered Sam. “Well, my adoptive mom and my birth parents, too. They died not long after I was born.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Dean replied, his previous frustration visibly draining out of him.

Sam shrugged. “I never knew them.” He hesitated, trying to decide how personal Dean wanted to get. Was he asking simply to kill time or did he genuinely want to know?

Sam wasn’t sure he was totally at ease spilling out his life story to a virtual stranger, and yet at the same time, he felt inexplicably comfortable with Dean. As if he’d known him for years and simply hadn’t seen him in a while. Based on what he’d seen of him so far, Dean had no qualms about being blunt, so Sam figured if Dean got uncomfortable having a more personal conversation, Sam would know in a hurry.

So he went on to tell Dean a little about Ellen, who loved him and raised him as if Sam were her own. He spoke of how Bobby used to be around a lot he was a kid, then stopped coming by, and what he’d recently learned from Bobby about why. He added that his birth parents had been a pilot and a Jedi respectively, and Dean was suitably impressed when Sam showed off his lightsaber.

“What were your parents like?” Sam asked.

Dean leaned back on the couch and laced his hands behind his head. “Actually, I was adopted too. Never knew my birth parents either. Found out when I was pretty young that they’d been some big deal in the fight against the Empire but they were killed in action. My adoptive parents were pretty amazing people – they were involved in building and maintaining secret Alliance networks all over Alderaan.

“Dad was an ambassador, so he travelled a lot, but it meant making more contacts. Once I was older, I started going with him, meeting them – that’s how I met Bobby. He was an old Rebel buddy of Dad’s. Anyways, eventually I started getting my own thing going. Making my own contacts, joining up and going on missions.

“Started using my birth parents’ last name: Winchester. That way I could protect my adoptive parents – if I got caught it wouldn’t come back on them – and I could make it known _exactly_ who I was. Stirred up some serious shit with the Empire when they realized whose son I was.”

Dean flashed a wide grin and Sam caught a glimpse of the brash, brave Rebel leader Bobby had told him about. Perhaps because of the way Ellen had chosen to keep Sam and Jo so isolated from the ongoing Alliance versus Empire struggle, Sam found it difficult to imagine growing up smack in the middle of it all. He both envied and pitied Dean.

“My birth dad was a big deal, like I said, and using his name was a way to carry on his work against the Empire, especially as the Alliance grew,” Dean explained. “And, it _really_ pissed off Azazel – this Imperial kingpin, Sith lord bastard I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of tangling with over the years.”

The rebel’s smile faded. “Azazel found out who my adoptive parents were, though, two years ago now. He murdered them. Killed them to get to me.” A storm of emotion crossed his features and he swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered softly. He wished he had something more comforting or substantial to say, but before he had the chance to even try, Dean was on his feet, apparently having reached his threshold for personal talk and emotion.

“I’m going to go check on Bobby,” he stated and left the room before Sam could reply.

 _I know what it’s like to have them taken from you_ , Sam thought, his thoughts centering on Ellen. _I know exactly what it feels like_. _I miss her so much. Every second._

He had hoped the pain would dull over time, but if the look on Dean’s face a moment ago was anything to go by, the months and years had done little to take away the ache of losing his family.

Tears pricked Sam’s eyes and he swiped them away. He forced himself to get up and start practicing with his lightsaber again, if only for something to do.

 

~

 

Thankfully, they landed on Hoth without incident. The planet’s perpetual blizzards had briefly eased, allowing for a smooth landing in the Rebel’s concealed bunker on the far side of the planet. Dean exhaled slow and long when the _Impala_ settled and powered down.

Bela immediately complained about the cold, getting up to fish several thick jackets out of one of the storage closets, and Dean rolled his eyes. Being from a cool, though much wetter planet, Ree was more pleased than Bela about the frigid temperature in the icy bunker, though Dean knew that probably wouldn’t last. Ree was generally far easier going than Bela, but she could be just as fussy given the right circumstances.

Sam stayed with Bobby as he was ushered on a gurney to the Rebel’s onsite medical unit. The kid started shivering the minute he set foot outside the ship and Dean pitied him. Coming from a desert planet and getting dropped on an ice planet was going to be a bit of shock. Hell, it was plain going to suck.

Bela and Ree disembarked to take stock of the damage the _Impala_ had taken the past few days and to begin repairs. The smuggler insisted she would be on her way the moment said repairs to her ship were complete and she was handsomely paid for returning one of the most important Rebel leaders safe and sound. Since Dean had more important things to worry about, he bit back a hundred and one irritated replies (it would keep) and split off to find the command hub and pass on the stolen Death Star plans he’d worked so hard to procure.

His fellow Alliance members were relieved to see him and happy to have him back. Adam brought him a fresh set of clothes and several jackets. Dean recounted what had happened to him since his ship was taken down by Azazel. He struggled to describe the destruction of Alderaan.

“When we heard,” said Benny. “We thought we’d lost you forever, brother.”

“A few more hours and you would have.” Dean went on to tell the others about Sam finding him, and the ensuing narrow escape from the Death Star in Bela’s – in his – ship.

“D’you think they tracked you?” asked Adam, eyes wide with concern.

“Don’t think so,” Dean said, but added grimly. “But we better put all sections on alert and get ready for a speedy evac just in case.”

Dean explained that they had found Castiel alive and well in the Death Star, though the former Jedi ran off, and was last seen facing off against Azazel across the hanger bay. He skated past the implication that his friend was truly dead this time, though the others heard it all the same.

When Dean was finished, he joined Benny and several others in analyzing the Death Star plans. If they were ever going to have a real chance at ending the Empire once and for all, then they _had_ to find a chink in the Death Star’s armor.

Adam passed Dean a chilled bottle of Adumari beer, and he took a deep swig of it gratefully. They certainly had their work cut out for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #4
> 
> Becky: She lived on a thriving, bustling Mid Rim planet and was obsessed with the Entertainment sector. Weekly, she could be found dogging film sets and the stars working there, desperate for an autograph. She was almost entirely unaware of the struggle of the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance, so wrapped up in her favourite film stars, until the weeks following the fall of the Empire. Then she found herself madly in love with the Heroes of Yavin, and dreamed extensively about someday meeting them. (Though she never did, despite her best efforts.)


	14. Chapter 14

They took Bobby into the surgical section of the base’s med unit and Sam was left to wait in the hall. Dr. Cara, the doctor Sam had initially spoken with, assured him that the damage was likely reversible. The wound was at the base of Bobby’s spine, so healing it required extreme delicacy.

“In better news,” said Cara. “The head wound will heal without difficulty.”

Sam’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

“We’ll take him into surgery to assess the damage to his spine,” Cara continued. “I’ll keep you updated with anything new.” She offered him another quick smile and headed back into the med unit.

Sam shivered. Though he’d acquired yet another jacket and an extra layer of clothes, he still felt cold. The thin material of his own clothes underneath were made to breathe in the suffocating heat of Tatooine’s desert, not hold in warmth against the frigid temperatures of Hoth.

Even indoors it was cold, though that should’ve been no surprise to him. The base was a maze of corridors carved from ice and stone, with numerous man-made additions to keep its structure. Crew quarters and the med bay, he was told, were separate and insulated to keep them comfortably warm, though Sam couldn’t bring himself to leave the chilly hallway outside the main med bay. Not until he knew for certain that Bobby was not going to be paralyzed from his back injury.

The ‘waiting area’ was really only a few chairs pressed against the wall; there must not have been room in the insulated med unit. Sam had glimpsed it earlier, crowded with beds and equipment. Sam supposed most people weren’t able to sit around and wait for news, if the hum activity in the base was any indication.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, tucking his freezing hands under his armpits. It was so hard for him to believe that only a few days ago he’d been picking through debris in the sand, the twin suns scorching his back. Far too much had happened since then.

Sam swallowed the surge of emotion rising his throat when he thought about Ellen. He pictured the burning homestead, the acrid smell of smoke and burnt flesh… He remembered a night a dozen years ago when he was curled up in bed shivering and sweating in the throes of a bout of Dust Fever. Ellen was at his bedside. She wiped at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth and murmured that it would be okay…

It still felt impossible to believe she was truly gone. Sam pressed his eyes shut tighter to keep the tears at bay.

“Sam?”

Sam’s heart lurched against his ribs as he opened his eyes. He’d know that voice anywhere. “Jo?”

Sure enough, standing before him in a puffy gray jacket, her long blonde hair tied back in a braid, was his adoptive sister, Jo.

“Oh my God, _Sam!_ ” Jo exclaimed happily as Sam jumped to his feet.

“Jo!” He pulled her into an excited, tight embrace, and she laughed into his chest. They rocked back and forth for a moment, grinning like fools. He knew she’d joined the Alliance, but the odds that she was here in this base, at this moment… He squeezed his arms around her, hardly daring to believe she was really in them, hugging him back for all she was worth. God, he’d missed her!

She reluctantly stepped back. “What are you _doing_ here? I heard Dean was back. Did you come with him? I can’t believe you’re really here!” She grabbed his neck and hugged him tight again. “How are you? How’s Mom? I thought you’d never get away from that rock!” She giggled and grinned.

Sam felt his smile sliding off and his initial joy at seeing her familiar face sputter in his chest. _She doesn’t know about Mom._ He gently grasped her arms, guiding them away from him. Her pretty features creased with worry the moment she saw his expression.

“Sam,” she began, her voice quivering. “What happened?”

He made her sit down as he explained about the death of their mother. She was too stubborn to cry openly in the hallway as her peers bustled by, but a few tears escaped and Sam held her hand tight. He’d shoved his grief away to deal with all the events of the past few days, but watching Jo absorb the news made him feel it all over again and he struggled not to break down too.

After that, he summarized the rest of his story. She in turn gave him a brief account of her adventures and why she hadn’t called nearly as often as she’d hoped. Months after departing Tatooine to join the Alliance, Jo had been sent out on a number of covert missions, which made contact impossible. The last time she’d sent a comm, Jo had been fresh off one such mission that she’d more or less barely made it out of. Ellen had taken one look at her beat-up looking daughter and launched into the usual lectures. Jo said they’d had a big argument, and then both had been too stubborn to comm back and apologize.

“She never told me,” said Sam. “She would just bring it up every so often that she didn’t know where you were and that you didn’t call anymore. Usually whenever I tried to bring up the subject of me leaving.”

“We left it on bad terms,” Jo nodded and swiped at her eyes. “I _wanted_ to call… I wanted to call a hundred times. But you know me – and her.”

He knew exactly how stubborn their mother could be and couldn’t quite fault Jo entirely – she had that same streak of belligerence in her, and the two of them had always fought. But he was hurt that his sister had never reached out to him, especially when he continued to defend her decision to leave and fight with the Rebels.

“You could’ve called me,” Sam offered sadly.

“You would’ve tried to force us into kissing and making up.” Jo almost smiled. “I should have.”

She went on to explain that after a couple months of relative downtime, she was sent on increasingly dangerous missions. Twice she was captured by Imperials and once even tortured for information. Sam felt white-hot anger coil in his chest at the thought, and Jo must’ve sensed it, because she laid her hand on his arm and leveled her gaze at him.

“Hey, it was my choice – I chose to get out there and fight. I volunteered for the mission knowing full well what could go wrong.” She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. “The important part is that it’s over and I got out.”

Sam’s jaw ticked. She made it sound like it was trivial and everything was fine, but he couldn’t stop the protective anger still pulsing in his temples. Jo almost smiled again, her expression understanding, and she changed the subject before Sam had the chance to dwell too much more on what she’d revealed to him.

“I’ve been going by Jo Turner out here so nothing ever fell back on you and Mom,” she said. “And it worked, too – they never found you. Well, until…”

Sam chuckled humorlessly, and his mind flashed to Dean, changing his name to protect his family, too. “Yeah, you can blame your buddy Dean for that one. And me – I’m the idiot who picked up the disc of plans and brought it home. I should’ve left it. I shouldn’t have gone after the damn pod.”

“The _hero_ who picked up that disc and brought those plans here,” Jo corrected, and nudged his shoulder affectionately with hers. She elbowed him gently when he didn’t look at her. “Hey – and _brought them here,_ ” she repeated, big brown eyes serious and locked on his. “Which means we finally have a real chance to turn the tide.”

He nodded. He understood the importance of it all, of course. He just couldn’t help feeling like nothing in the damn galaxy could ever be worth losing his mom. Or knowing that his sister had been tortured for the cause.

The pair leaned against one another in companionable, if heavy, silence for quite some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Sam eventually broke it first.

“Wait, _Turner_?” he glanced at her, a smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. “Like, Rufus Turner from the market, who died a few years back?”

“Mmhmm,” Jo confirmed.

Sam laughed.

“What?”

“It’s just that Bobby – when we were getting checked at Mos Eisley, he pretended to be Rufus too. Fake licenses and everything.”

“Well,” said Jo. “Great minds.” She tapped her temple and shot him a knowing look, making him smile.

Jo stayed with him and they swapped stories until Dr. Cara emerged from the surgical unit with news of Bobby’s condition.

“He’s going to make a full recovery,” she reported, and Sam’s knees almost buckled with relief. “Again, the repairs are complex given the location of the injury. He likely won’t have sensation in his legs for a week or two, but we’ll be doing regular bacta treatments to significantly speed his recovery. He’ll be walking again in no time.”

Jo gave Sam’s shoulder a squeeze after the doctor departed. “He’s okay, Sam,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go – I was supposed to be at a strategy session more than an hour ago.”

“No problem,” Sam replied. All the worry over Bobby was draining out of him and taking his energy with it. The exhaustion must’ve shown in his face, because Jo gave him her classic _Sam-do-what-I-tell-you-right-now-or-I’ll-slug-you_ look.

“And you need to go lay down somewhere.”

He was about to protest on principle – surely he could be doing something useful somewhere? – but he knew better than to argue with Jo when she had that face on. Besides, he was still cold, and he really was feeling tired. A warm bed sounded a lot like heaven at the moment.

Jo looped her arm through her brother’s. “C’mon. This way.”

 

~

 

Rage poured from Azazel like heat waves off a sand dune. He was exercising an incredible amount of restraint as a fresh set of med-bots continued to tend to his wounds. He’d already lashed out and fried three of them. He’d also severely injured a pair of officers who’d shakily come in to report that the rebel ship _Impala_ had blasted into hyperspace and their damaged fighters had been unable to pursue it.

Azazel looked down at the arm currently having copious amounts of bacta and bandages applied to it, and his lip curled with fury. That damn Jedi and his grenade! Azazel had tried to get away, to shove the thing far from him before it exploded, but he hadn’t reacted fast enough. His right arm and the right side of his face were seared with severe burns.

He snarled in pain as the bot wrapped another layer of burn gauze over his scorched forearm and fought off the urge to snap the bot in two. He needed these injuries tended to, and fast, if he was to continue pursuing the _Impala_. It was a frustrating development that they’d managed to slip away from his skilled pilots, but Azazel was secure in the knowledge that he’d had the foresight to attach a tracking device to the rebel ship while it had been in the Death Star’s hangar bay.

He allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile. That Winchester asshole wouldn’t know what hit him. His smile widened. It was going to be all the more sweet to report to the Emperor that the Rebels were finished, and that Winchester, the ultimate thorn in the Empire’s side for far too long, was ashes along with them.

The doors to the med bay opened with a soft _swish_ and in came General Raphael. His dark brow was already beaded with sweat and Azazel could feel the fear rolling off him.

“What is it?” Azazel barked, sensing bad news. His temper flared.

He’d made it quite clear that no one was to disturb him until he exited the med bay fully patched up or unless there was a substantial update in the pursuit of Winchester’s ship. He sent the med-bots away with a sharp flick of his fingers.

Raphael swallowed. “M-my lord,” he began, his eyes darting to the retreating bots. “We’ve, ah… our long-range sensors have… sir, we…”

“Say it,” Azazel growled. He did not like where this was going – Raphael was normally steadier than this. It had to be truly major if he was sputtering and sweating like a little, green Lieutenant.

Raphael swiped at his brow and cleared his throat. “My lord, the tracking device has ceased transmitting. It was likely damaged in the… in the firefight, and has q-quit. We’ve… sire, we’ve l-lost them.”

Azazel became very still and silent as he processed this information. Raphael began shaking and fought in vain to hide his weakness.

“Do you,” Azazel began, his voice deadly calm, “have any suggestions for what I might report to the Emperor on this matter?” He turned burning yellow eyes on the general. “What I might say about letting Winchester slip away?”

Raphael started stammering and spluttering. Azazel was out of patience. With a growl, the Sith lord whipped his uninjured hand up in a fist. Raphael gasped and wheezed, and his body slowly lifted in the air until his feet were dangling off the floor. He clawed at his throat to no avail and Azazel tightened his grip. Two minutes later, Raphael stopped struggling and Azazel released his limp body. It crumpled to the floor.

When Azazel roared, the very walls shuddered and shook. He recovered himself and paged Colonel Zachariah. The colonel hurried into the med unit and stood at attention moments later.

“Use every available tracking method to find the _Impala_ ’s last known course,” Azazel ordered, his voice razor sharp. “Send out all available probes. Rally the Destroyers in this quadrant. I will not lose them a second time.”

Zachariah nodded rapidly. “Yes sir, of course. Right away.”

Azazel got to his feet and stormed over to the Colonel. Impressively he did not flinch, though his eyes did dart to the unmoving form of Raphael on the floor nearby.

“And congratulations on the promotion,” said Azazel. “ _General_ Zachariah.”

 

~

 

Dean rubbed his tired eyes. He and a number of others had been taking shifts, pouring over the stolen plans all night, and still hadn’t found the crack they needed to destroy the Empire. Hell, he’d take ‘chip away’ at the Empire over ‘destroy’ at this point, if it meant finding a weakness (no matter how small). His gut churned. Maybe the thing was as indestructible as the Imperials, and Azazel in particular, boasted it was.

“There has to be _something_ ,” Jo, seated to his right, grumbled and pressed her palm to her brow.

He glanced her way and she looked as tired as he felt. He was glad the end of his shift was coming up.

He’d had a short nap after debriefing Benny and the others; though his body had wanted sleep, his mind had struggled to allow it. After fighting to sleep a little longer, he’d given up and took his turn analyzing the plans. Adam kept them all supplied with a homemade coffee facsimile that tasted like shit, but gave his body the energy boost it needed to soldier on.

Dean leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “We’ll find it. We just have to keep looking.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Jo rolled her shoulders and stretched out her arms before leaning back in her chair as well. “So you didn’t tell me you were travelling with my brother.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Your–? I didn’t know the kid was your brother.”

She nodded. “Adoptive, but yeah.”

“Huh.” _That’s a hell of a coincidence,_ Dean thought and chuckled. _The galaxy gets a little smaller every day._

“Also heard you… ran into Bela,” said Jo carefully, sending him that sideways look of hers she got whenever the subject of the merc came up.

Dean exhaled heavily. “Sam and Bobby hired her. They didn’t know any better.”

She’d heard from Benny earlier the summary of what Dean had been through over the past several days; she didn’t need him to recount it.

“Nothing happened,” he spit out, feeling the question rising to Jo’s lips before she had the chance to voice it. He also didn’t need to justify or explain anything pertaining to Bela. Especially because neither Jo nor Bela were his girlfriend, thank you very much.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jo shot back, though less defensively than he’d been expecting. “It’s not like we…” she trailed off and shrugged. “I just heard you ran into her, is all. And I know your history. And she brought you here. I was surprised – sue me.”

“She’s leaving the first chance she gets, believe me,” Dean replied bitterly.

He jerked forward in his seat with a frustrated growl and put his attention back on studying the Death Star’s schematics. He pointedly ignored the knowing smile playing around Jo’s lips as she much less aggressively returned to the glowing plans.

Dean’s shift was finished less than twenty minutes later and he gladly handed his seat off to Ash. Ash’s drawling Ploomarian accent was thick as ever when he greeted Dean with a slap on the back.

“All right, boy,” he said. “Move outta the way and let the real experts take a gander at these here plans.” He cracked his knuckles and flashed Dean an amiable side-grin. “Doctor Bad-Ass is _in_.”

Dean laughed. “Good luck, pal,” he said. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Well, thanky.” Ash stretched lazily in his seat. “Oh, and Dean-o, those sensors oughta be up ta snuff now. Soon as day breaks, you and the boys can put ‘em back out there.”

“Thanks Ash,” Dean nodded. “I appreciate it.”

“Ain’t no problem,” Ash drawled, waving Dean off. “I bulked up the shielding on those puppies an’ did some recalibratin’, so they oughta last through this planet’s damn snowstorms now.”

Dean thanked him again, and exited the room.

As he left Ash with Jo and the others to continue their work, he smiled to himself. If anyone could find a hole in the Empire, it would be Ash. Despite his terrible mullet haircut and sloppy manner of dress (often looking like he’d rolled out of bed wearing someone else’s dirty castoffs), the guy was an inexplicable genius, straight out of the finest schools the galaxy had to offer.

Ash was easily their best engineer and analyst, and the only reason why he hadn’t started in on the plans sooner was because he’d been fixing up those fried sensors. According to Benny, it was the third time Hoth’s brutal temperatures and intense blizzards had knocked the damn things out of commission, rendering the base blind to weather, potential threats, and more. Dean hoped Ash’s latest batch of modifications would stick.

He made for the hangar bay, curious about Bela’s progress on repairing her – damn it, _his_ – ship. Last he’d talked to her, she’d been complaining loud and long about the number of holes and problems the Imperials had given her. He doubted she’d be in a much cheerier mood, especially since it was taking longer than expected to round up her promised reward money.

Sure enough, as he approached the parked _Impala_ , he could hear faint clanging and colourful language filtering down the boarding ramp. Dean chuckled and climbed aboard. He found Bela in the engine bay, up to her elbows in parts and wires, grease streaked across her cheek and in her pretty brown hair.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway to enjoy watching her swearing creatively at the mess surrounding her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

She whirled and cursed again, startled. “Where the hell did you come from?”

He laughed. “Just finished my shift. Thought I’d check in.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Bela snapped. “Except that those damn Imperials did a royal number on my baby – ”

“My baby,” Dean corrected her irritably.

“And every time I fix one issue, I find another.” She sat back and sighed with frustration.

“Why don’t you take a break?” he suggested.

“Because I don’t need one, and what I _do_ need is to make this bucket of bolts ready to go as soon as bloody possible, so I can get the hell out of dodge.”

Dean ignored the insult to his ship, crossed the cramped room, and reached down to lift the hydrospanner from her hand. He sat beside her on the floor and picked up the chunk of hyperdrive engine she’d been fiddling with. It was large, heavy, and tubular.

“There, see?” she pointed to a fried section on the outside and Dean nodded. She passed him a set of fresh wires and he got to work. He balanced the engine piece across his knees.

“Look, you know how much this is going to hurt me to say it,” began Dean. “But as much as I can’t stand you – ”

Bela huffed a laugh.

“You’re smart and creative, and you’re a damn good pilot. The Alliance needs people like you. You could stay – you should.” He pulled apart the blackened panels and wires and started reattaching the new ones.

“Darling, you know I don’t pick sides. We’ve talked about this. You stick to your part of the universe and I’ll disappear into mine. That _was_ the agreement, yeah? Don’t get soft on me now.”

Dean snorted derisively. It was the same ol’, same ol’ with her. He snapped the blackened panel back onto the new wires – the panel was sooty, but otherwise undamaged. Besides, they had no replacement, so this would have to do.

“So as soon as your repairs are made,” said Dean flatly. “You’re gone.”

He flipped the engine piece over in his lap and reached inside, pulling out its inner workings to see what else needed fixing. Engine grease streaked up his arm.

“That’s right,” she replied coolly.

He abandoned the hyperdrive and climbed to his feet, clutching the hydrospanner with an angry, white-knuckled grip. He shook his head.

“You’re leaving in the middle of a shit-storm, to save your own skin. Again. And leaving me in your dust, _again_.”

She shrugged and stood, brushing herself off. “I rescued you earlier, didn’t I? And brought you home? That should earn me some points.” She tossed him a teasing smirk.

Dean snorted. “This is Aridus all over again.”

“Oh no, darling,” said Bela. “Aridus was much worse. Although I seem to recall you never thanked me for _that_ rescue, either. Seems to be a recurring theme with you…”

“Bela, I’m never going to thank you for making my life hell.”

When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand.

“Should I list the incidents alphabetically or chronologically?” He tossed the greasy hydrospanner onto the workbench.

“Dealer’s choice,” she returned with a sultry smile.

“Kalabra City,” Dean said sharply.

“Unintentional.”

He shot her a look that read _like hell,_ and said, “You were following me.”

She shrugged. “I followed you a lot.”

“Nexus Ortai.”

She shrugged again. “Bored.”

“They arrested me for public indecency!”

She snickered into her hand. “I know. I’ve always treasured that. That, and the little incident on Garos.”

“You call that a _little_ incident?” he balked.

Bela inhaled. “Well… more of a happy accident, really.”

Dean growled, “Stealing my wallet and speeder the morning after was an accident?”

“No,” she dipped her head and looked up at him through long lashes. “Meeting you the night before.” Her pink lips curved in a soft smile. “Like I said: happy accident.”

For a moment, he thought he might give in to the way his heart was pounding and kiss her senseless. His mind filled with memories of the night he’d met Bela. His lips certainly remembered how she tasted, even if he’d spent God only knew how many hours (weeks, months, years) trying to forget the damn woman thereafter. He couldn’t stand her, he never wanted to see her again, and yet every time he found himself in her presence, he was an addict who needed just one more hit.

He hadn’t been lying earlier: she really _was_ smart and creative and a damn good pilot. And he really did need people like her in the Alliance. But he also would have been lying if he denied that he wanted her to stick around because he also cared about her, despite the number of times she’d screwed him over. Despite the fact that she drove him nuts and he also basically hated her and wanted nothing to do with her.

He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowinghe cared, however. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and smirked.

“Accident is right. I should have never gone into that bar. Would have saved myself a world of trouble.” He moved away from her, turning his attention back to the engine parts strewn across the workbench.

“Oh, come now,” she said behind him, voice teasing again. “And miss out on all our merry adventures?”

 _Damn it_ , Dean thought, grinding his teeth as his usual frustration with Bela flared up. He just couldn’t let that one go, even while he knew he should. “You have a funny definition of adventures.”

“Lycos,” she returned happily.

Dean whirled on her. “That?!They threw me in an Imperial holding cell for two days. ‘Hold this,’ you said. ‘I’ll just be a second,’ you said. And idiot I am, I did it, and they freaking tackled me in the street!” he snapped. “I got lucky a random meteor crash blew out the windows of their stupid little jail.” He jabbed his finger at a thin scar below his temple. “That so was not an adventure!”

She laughed, light and tinkling, and it only irritated him that much more. “At least you weren’t naked that time.”

“Or unconscious,” he grumbled. He raked his hand through his hair, heedless of the streak of engine grease on his palm.

Really, if he were to tally it up, she’d gotten one over him more than half a dozen times compared to his paying her back perhaps three or four times. Granted, he was usually in the process of trying to do some actual good in the universe and didn’t have time to devote to trying to screw her over in kind (or else he was attempting to extricate himself from whatever situation she’d left him or put him in). She, meanwhile, was usually making sure she got paid in some form or another, or ensuring he got caught holding the bag (metaphorically, and twice, literally).

 _She’s not worth this much trouble_ , he told himself. _No one is._

Dean advanced on her, unable to stop himself just yet, naming more of the locales where they had encountered each other. “Jiroch, Atzerri, Wroona?”

She ticked off a finger one at a time as she answered, “Long con, not my fault, and just for fun.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement and memories. “Come on, you _enjoyed_ that one. Besides, I talked that Imperial moron into letting you go unscathed. I’ll bet he didn’t last long when his bosses found out exactly who he’d had in his possession.”

“Not the point.”

“Then make it, darling.” She raised her chin at him, and scooped up a rag from the bench. “Don’t play such a victim – you’ve repaid the slights I bestowed on you in kind. Herdessa, that Skip in Smuggler’s Run?” She reached up and wiped at the engine grease he’d smeared across his face and in his hair.

Dean couldn’t help a bark of laughter at the memories – at least on Herdessa, _she’d_ been the one arrested as he sped away, leaving her incredulous in the dust.

She pursed her lips unhappily. “I still have the scar from Mon Gazza.”

He caught the arm that was worrying at his hair and pulled it down between them. “I barely clipped you.”

“Except my ship was damaged, courtesy of you, and I was stranded without bacta and – ”

“I only shot you down because you shot me first.”

Bela huffed. “I only shot _you_ because – ”

“Sweetheart,” Dean interrupted. “We can do this all damn day.”

She watched him for a long moment, her irritation melting away the longer she stared. He held her green-eyed gaze, he held her arm, he held his breath, and could feel himself slipping. He wanted to ask her to stay again, wanted to plead, wanted to feel her lips on his one last time –

“Don’t,” she whispered, pulling out of his grasp and creating some distance between their bodies. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He glanced away then, suddenly uncomfortable, like he’d given too much away. He scooped up a fusioncutter and began fiddling with it to occupy his hands.

Bela sighed through her nose. “I’m not staying, Dean. I’m getting my reward, and I’m going. I don’t know how many times you’d like to have this conversation, but the results will be the same. I don’t get involved in politics – all I want is my paycheque.” She tossed the rag she’d been using to clean him back onto the bench.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

“And besides,” continued Bela, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Do I really look like the patriotic revolution type?”

“It’s not about that,” he burst out. “It’s not just a little revolution, or ‘politics’ – it’s about freeing the entire galaxy from an unjust, mass-murdering, totalitarian institution that actively works to destroy free will and democracy!” He could feel his cheeks getting warm – he hadn’t come here to fight with her or have a debate, but conversations with her hardly ever went any other way.

“That’s _your_ job,” said Bela, her tone a tad icier than before. “You’re the blessed hero out to save the universe. I don’t know how many times I have to remind you, darling, that I am, always have been, and always will be the scum you believe I am.”

“Bela, I didn’t say – ”

“I _am_ only in it for the money. I’m simply not interested in tangling in your galactic war.” She took another step back from him. “And for the record, I really was going to leave you behind on the Death Star to be executed. I don’t like complications – you know that.”

Dean nodded, genuinely stung, and pissed that he was actually hurt by her words. He clenched his jaw briefly. “Right, sorry. I keep forgetting you’re a heartless bitch.”

Bela colored, but didn’t deny it.

He tossed the fusioncutter her way and she caught it. “Have fun with your repairs.”

Dean stormed out of the _Impala_ before she said another word, too angry to continue speaking with her. And angry that he was angry, because it was _Bela_ and he _knew_ she was a selfish thief, and that was why he’d parted ways with her once and for all several months back. He’d given up on her, he’d moved on and stopped entangling his life with hers. But here she was, stirring up shit he thought he’d buried, and here she was, screwing with his emotions and tossing him around like a waterpod on the boiling ocean of Baal’ik.

Dean retreated to his quarters, barely refraining from punching a hole in the transparisteel wall. He flopped down onto his bed and reassured himself that likely tomorrow, Bela would be gone for good, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the way she made him feel any longer.

It was exhausting to hate someone and care for them so much at the same time.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam enjoyed a mild, warm breakfast of porridge-esque protein at Bobby’s bedside. The older man had come to during the night and was deemed to be doing well. Although he was awake when Sam came to visit, he didn’t have the energy to be for long, and went back to sleep. Sam soon dozed off at his friend’s bedside and was woken by a rough shake from Dean.

“C’mon Sammy, rise and shine,” he said.

Sam rubbed his eyes. “I told you not to call me that,” he grumbled.

Dean simply laughed. “Put on some more layers of clothes – we have important things to do outside and we need all the hands we can get.” Jutting his chin at Bobby’s snoozing form, Dean asked more seriously, “Has he woken up yet?”

Sam nodded. “A few times. They said they’ll be moving him to a repulsor chair soon so he can get around, and they’ll continue injections and bacta to restore the use of his legs. He’s kinda pissed about being confined to a chair, but at least it’s only temporary. And it’ll get him outta the bed.”

A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched and cast a sad look at Bobby. Then he cleared his throat and told Sam to hurry up.

Once Sam had put on several layers of thick, made-for-Hoth clothes and headed out into the chilly ice hallways, Jo and Dean informed him what these ‘important things’ were that needed doing. There were sensors that needed to be set out at intervals across Hoth, and with so many teams analyzing the Death Star’s plans, they needed more hands to put them out.

Jo zipped up Sam’s puffy gray coat and handed him a set of thick, heavy gloves. “Last night’s blizzard’s finally let up, but these things tend to roll in fast and frequent, so we need to seize this window while we have it.”

She led him over to a set of strange, furry creatures. “You’ll be riding these,” she informed him.

They had short, stubby arms in the front and sturdy, muscled legs with wide, reptilian feet ending in large claws. The animals had snuffling snouts, small pointed ears, beady eyes, and a set of ribbed horns that came out of their cheeks and curved towards their faces. Sam stared as they whipped their long tails back and forth and made strange calls, a sort of gurgling moan.

“I’ll be _what_?” said Sam incredulously.

Jo laughed at the look on his face. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them. They’re called tauntauns, and until we can calibrate our repulsorcraft to deal with the extreme cold, we’re stuck using these guys.”

Sam wasn’t thrilled about getting close to the things, much less climbing on them. They stank like they’d rolled in decaying feces. Dean laughed at him, but loudly agreed that their smell was absolutely their worst quality.

Jo helped Sam into the saddle of his appointed tauntaun, which wiggled and gurgled beneath him. Sam gripped the reins tightly. By the time Dean, Jo, and the rest of the rebels on sensor duty had climbed onto their mounts, Sam felt more at ease. The thing seemed completely unbothered by Sam being on his back, the saddle felt secure, and though Sam had never ridden one before, the thing responded to his tugs instantly.

He cracked a smile behind his scarf as he nudged his tauntaun up beside Dean’s.

“No sweat, right?” the other man grinned, and tugged his scarf over his mouth. “Oh, by the way, keep your eyes peeled. There are these nasty sons-of-a-bitches out there called wampas – giant, white, _huge_ teeth and claws – and they love tauntaun meat.”

“Uh, okay, what do I do if I come across one?” asked Sam nervously, trying to picture how big these wampas might be.

“Kick your tauntaun into high gear and get the hell outta there,” said Dean oh-so-reassuringly. The bay doors began to crank open, letting in a rush of frigid air and weak sunlight. “They like to sneak up on their prey, so like I said, keep your eyes peeled.”

Sam gulped. “Got it.”

“Let’s ride!” Dean hollered, and led the way out.

 

~

 

The majority of the sensor arrays had been placed and replaced by the time ominous dark clouds crept over the horizon. Dean called over the comms to finish up and head back as soon as possible. He hopped down from his tauntaun and grabbed his last sensor, using a variety of tools from his pack to jam it into the frozen ground. A few seconds of calibration later and Dean grinned behind his scarf. Everything checked out.

He glanced up at the incoming storm clouds. _Son of bitch._ They were coming in a hell of a lot faster than he’d expected.

Dean hastily repeated his earlier command to retreat to the base’s safety. “She looks extra nasty,” he said, watching the heavy, low-hanging clouds.

“Copy,” came Jo’s voice. “I’m almost there.”

A number of other confirmations came through following Jo, and last to call in was Sam.

“Just placing my last one,” he reported. “Heading back in a minute or less.”

“Sounds good, kid,” Dean replied. “Just make sure you stay ahead of those clouds.”

“Copy.”

Satisfied, Dean packed up and climbed back onto his tauntaun. He nudged its ribs with his feet and it took off for home.

 

~

 

Sam sat back panting, having just finished placing his last sensor. They had turned out to be a lot harder to work with than he’d expected and the cold didn’t help anything. His face and fingers were starting to feel numb, despite the protection of his goggles, thick scarf, and hearty gloves. He was thankful this was the last sensor he was required to set. He hastened through the calibration process, mumbling under his breath for the device to hurry – as if it would help. He needed to get back before the blizzard swooped in.

Calibration done and sensor placed, Sam clambered to his feet. He slid his goggles off to clear the gathering frost off of them, and his eyelashes glazed with his breath.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He heard a crunch of snow behind him, just as his tauntaun gave a wild, terrified shriek. Sam whirled and realized that _this_ was probably the wampa-thing Dean had warned him about, when the giant, white furry beast lashed out with big dark claws. Sam reared back, though not quite far enough, as the tips of its claws caught him across the face, tearing off his scarf and leaving behind stinging gashes.

Sam scrambled backwards in the snow, blinking blood from his eyes. The wampa took another swipe, this time at the wailing tauntaun entangled in its reins and trying desperately to escape. The wampa’s claws sliced across the animal’s neck. The tauntaun collapsed with a whimper and stopped moving. Sam fished frantically amongst his layers of clothing for his lightsaber.

The wampa advanced, growling and roaring. It lunged again and Sam dove out of the way of its incoming paws. He rolled through the snow away from the beast and fumbled with the switch on his lightsaber. The monster bellowed, spit flying from its massive black mouth, brimming with sharp wide teeth. It charged and Sam attempted to roll out of its path again.

The wampa pounced with another terrifying roar. It collided with Sam, sending his lightsaber skittering across the ice-crusted snow. A shock of red-hot pain shot through Sam’s left arm where the beast’s fierce claws connected. Sam cried out and blindly scrambled away, narrowly missing another mad swipe from the wampa.

He spotted his lightsaber and jumped for it, ripping off his glove so he could grasp the hilt properly. The creature rounded on Sam, and this time when it leapt for its prey, it was met with a vibrant column of blue light. Sam swung and sliced, the wampa screeched and wailed. Its crimson blood spattered on the brilliant white snow. Sam sprang to his feet, stumbling and clambering through the deep snow as hard and fast as he could, leaving the severely injured wampa and dead tauntaun behind.

Sam didn’t slow his pace for what felt like a very long time. He kept imagining the wampa limping after him, even well after the thing’s pained bellows had faded into the distance.

 _Don’t stop,_ he thought. _Keep going. Don’t stop. Stop and you’re dead._

He slowed his pace to a walk to catch his breath; a stitch tore mercilessly at his ribs. He sucked at the icy air and coughed. He glanced down at his arm, which was still stinging and caked with snow and frozen blood. It was impossible to tell how bad it really was, but it seemed swollen and very bloody beneath the shredded layers of clothing.

Worse, the electronic compass he’d been relying on to show him the way home once he’d put enough space between him and the wampa, was completely smashed.

Sam gulped, but wasn’t ready to lose hope. He shoved his lightsaber into his pocket with his uninjured right hand and reached for his comm. All he had to do was radio Dean and Jo, and they’d figure out what to do next. They’d find him, they’d bring him back, and they’d…

Sam felt his heart sink in his chest and settle like a cold rock in the pit of his stomach. His comm was gone. It must’ve come off in the struggle with the wampa. Sam cursed over and over as he patted himself down, searching every pocket and fold, to no avail.

 _This can’t be happening,_ he thought desperately. _This cannot be happening!_

His frantic search came up empty. Sam swallowed and struggled to tamp down the fear rising inside him. He was alone, bleeding, freezing, and lost, with no way to find his way back, and no way to call for help. Sam looked up at the building clouds overhead – and he was probably moments away from being caught in a massive blizzard.

No big deal.

 

~

 

Dean exhaled in rush and shook the snow off of his hood. “Whew! She’s an ugly one, all right!”

He hopped down off his grumbling tauntaun and led it over to a caretaker in charge of feeding them and brushing them down. The bay doors were open a mere crack for the rebels still coming in from the sensor mission, but even so, the blizzard was sending intense gusts of snow and wind through the opening, clogging it with building piles of white stuff.

Dean breathed deep, thankful to get rid of the scarf and goggles. Though necessary to avoid frostbite and other exposure-related injuries, they were annoying to wear, making him feel claustrophobic. Jo approached him, her cheeks pink with the cold.

“Thank goodness we missed _that_ , hey?” he said, gesturing with his thumb at the bay doors. He shivered at the sight.

Jo nodded with relief. “Hell yeah.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sam come back with you?”

Dean shook his head. “Naw, he just had that one sensor left to set and then he was on his way.”

Jo’s brows crinkled with concern. “You were farther out than he was, though,” she said, looking around the massive hanger bay as if she’d spot Sam somewhere nearby. “He should’ve been back by now.”

Dean fought off a flutter of worry. “It’s a hell of a storm, Jo, maybe he just got slowed down by it. He’s new to this,” he reasoned. “Give him a minute.”

She didn’t look convinced as she bit her lip. “I don’t know, Dean.” She rubbed her arms, eyes drawn to the snow swirling in through the crack in the bay doors. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Truth be told, so did Dean, but there was no reason to further worry Jo. “Look, maybe he came in the south entrance,” he suggested. It was pretty unlikely, seeing as how the kid didn’t even know where the south entrance was, but in the event that’d gotten turned around, he might’ve found his way there.

Jo nodded and hurried to go check. Dean furrowed his brow and grabbed the nearest tech officer.

“Hey Charlie, has Sam Harvelle checked in yet?” he asked. Maybe the kid had managed to get in before Jo and Dean, and was already relaxing somewhere.

“Who?” the tech consulted her datapad.

“Sam Harvelle,” Dean repeated impatiently. “Stupid tall with shaggy hair and puppy dog eyes. He came in yesterday on the _Impala_.”

“Oh, him.” Recognition swept over Charlie’s features. “No, sorry – not yet.”

“Are you sure?” Dean pressed.

The redhead pierced him with a sharp look. “My job is to keep track of every person who goes in and out the only two entrances to our _secret rebel base_ on an a uninhabited planet, so yeah, I’m _sure_.”

Dean backed off and Carlie rushed on her way, shaking her head. He checked his watch and frowned. He’d give Sam a few more minutes – he probably just fell behind. Dean fought off the surge of worry curling up his chest. The kid was probably totally fine.

 

~

 

Sam tumbled down into the snow.

He was ice cold – no, colder, he was sure. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore, could barely feel his arms. He’d tucked his injured arm against his chest and held it tense for so long, he thought it might have frozen there. He was past shivering. His body ached in pain. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t feel touched by the snow around him.

In every direction, all he could see was white. There were no distinguishing features anywhere, and the blizzard, with its blowing snow and cutting wind, had only made that infinitely worse. Sam estimated he could only see maybe twenty or so feet before him, if that. Just before the storm had rolled in, he’d taken his best guess at which direction the base was and started for it. But now, he was worried he’d strayed wildly off track, or worse, simply been fumbling around in circles.

Sam struggled to his feet, fighting every instinct that told him he was done, that it was easier to just stop and lay down. He tried to focus on Jo’s face in his mind, use her as the reason to force one foot in front of the other. His world had narrowed to wind slicing at his exposed skin, to watching one frozen foot dredge through the snow, then the other. Then again.

 _Come on_ , he thought. _Jo needs you to keep going_. Step. Drag. Step. _Keep going, just a little further._ Step. Drag. Step. _A little more._ Step. Drag.

Fall.

Sam didn’t simply fall to his knees in the snow this time, but instead walked right to the edge of an unseen incline. He tumbled and rolled painfully down, end over end, his head banging against ice, limbs slapping through the snow. He finally landed in a snowy heap at the bottom and didn’t move for several seconds, trying to get his breath back.

But the cold was cutting at his lungs and his arm was pulsing with renewed pain and he just… couldn’t… get… up…

 

~

 

“He’s not anywhere,” said Jo frantically. “I checked the south entrance, I tried his quarters and the med unit – Bobby hasn’t seen him since this morning. I paged him – Dean, no one has seen him since he left.”

Dean swore colorfully and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. _Damn it, Sam,_ he thought.

“We have to go after him,” said Jo, already getting her gear back on.

“No way,” Dean shook his head. “No freakin’ way, Jo. Look how bad it is out there! There’s no way we can find him in this storm and you know it.”

Jo glared at him, her eyes flashing with fierce rage. “There’s no way I’m going to leave him out there to die! He’s my brother!”

“He might already be dead!” Dean countered.

“You don’t know that,” said Jo hotly, shoving past Dean towards the tauntauns.

“Damn it, Jo,” Dean growled and caught her arm, spinning her around. She yanked herself out of his grasp, but he grabbed her again. “You can’t go out there – _hey,_ I’m not risking my best people in this storm. It’s too damn dangerous!”

Her cheeks flushed with anger and she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“I’ll go after him, okay? I need you here.”

“He’s my brother – ” Jo began, still fighting him.

“ _Jo_ ,” he pleaded, low and serious. She met his eyes then. “I’ll find him. But if I don’t make it, I need someone who can take care of things. I need _you_ , here.” He waited a beat then added, “Please.”

Jo clenched her jaw and he knew her well enough to see that she was furious and that she was _this_ close to going anyway. When she pulled her arm out of his grasp this time, she didn’t barrel on towards the tauntauns. Instead she stared him down with the most intense gaze he’d ever seen her use.

“You better come back,” she said, her voice tight and brittle.

Dean nodded. On impulse, he leaned forward and planted a quick peck on her flushed forehead before racing away and saddling up the nearest tauntaun. Moments later, Dean forged out into the blizzard in search of Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #5
> 
> Tessa: Purposely stayed out of the war as much as possible, choosing to be neutral. She was a mortician on a Mid Rim world, and while she kept her ears open for news about the ongoing war, she smoothly avoided picking a side. She felt both sides had pros and cons, and while the longer things went on, the more she believed the Empire was corrupt, she felt she had no place “fighting the good fight”, believing she was hardly a good person herself. She celebrated with the rest of them, however, the day the Empire fell.


	16. Chapter 16

“Sam.”

Sam didn’t stir. It was nice here. It was warm here. Or maybe he was so cold it seemed warm – he didn’t know anymore.

“ _Sam_.”

There was a voice. No, it was the wind. Or maybe it was a voice? It was really hard to tell. He wasn’t even sure if he was conscious or not. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he was dead.

“Sam, honey, get up. You have to get up.”

No, he wasn’t dead – he could feel the wind cutting at his face, though it seemed less harsh than before (he was probably imagining that, or had lost all feeling in his skin). It was slicing at the part not buried in the snow, anyway.

_“Sam!”_

The voice was female and really insistent. Sam opened his eyes with great difficultly – they felt like they were frozen shut and he was prying them apart from beneath a layer of ice. He lifted his head with great effort, and blearily made out a figure standing in the snow in front of him. A woman, it seemed, wearing long brown robes. Sam squinted. She had blonde hair and…

“Mar… Mom?” he croaked out. It wasn’t Ellen, but his birth mother Mary, the beautiful Jedi woman he’d only seen in pictures. Or at least, it was a hallucination that looked a lot like her.

She smiled. “Yes. Sam, I need you to hold on.”

She was asking a lot, Sam decided.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Try…” Sam said, his voice a cracked whisper. He hoped she heard him. He _was_ trying to hang on after all – he’d _been_ trying for who-the-hell-knew how long. That had to count for something, right? It was just so cold.

“Good,” Mary said. The image of her flickered and faded for a moment before it steadied and she continued. “Sam, you must go to Dagobah. It is as Castiel said – you must find him on Dagobah.”

“Dagobah…?” Sam echoed weakly.

“Go to Dagobah,” Mary repeated. “Find Castiel.”

“Castiel…” said Sam, his eyes sliding shut. _Dagobah_ , he recited in his head. _Find Castiel._

His head drooped slowly back down into the snow. The image of Mary was fading completely now. He didn’t think it was important to focus on her anymore.

If she was ever really there in the first place.

 

~

 

Dean had no idea in hell how to find Sam.

He’d started towards the kid’s last known location, but it was a struggle. The blizzard was letting up a little – it wasn’t nearly as thick as it’d been half an hour ago – but the weather was still wreaking havoc on the navigational equipment guiding him to the sensors Sam had been in charge of setting up.

And then there was this weird churning in Dean’s gut that was getting stronger and telling him he was going the wrong way. Why the hell he had this feeling, he didn’t know, just that he did and it was starting to make his skin crawl under his jacket. He glanced around the never-ending white expanse, wishing for some kind of clue.

 _Dean_.

For a split second, he thought he heard his name on the wind. Then he thought he saw a form in the distance – someone standing out in the snow – but it was gone as fast he could blink. Still, he didn’t hesitate in turning his tauntaun and kicking it into high gear across the snow.

 _Sam, I’m coming,_ he thought, thinking he’d finally found the kid.

The faster he pushed the tauntaun over the snow drifts, the more that twisted feeling in his gut began to ease. It was weird and inexplicable, but he suddenly _knew_ he was headed in the right direction. He blew past where he thought he’d seen the figure, but there was no sign of Sam. He pressed on, stopping only once to get his bearings, swiveling on the spot before charging off in the direction that caused that same bizarre _I just know it’s this way_ feeling he couldn’t articulate.

The blizzard had eased significantly and visibility was much better. Dean could actually differentiate the white horizon from the darkened gray sky now, instead of it all being one big white blanket. He pulled up short at a steep incline and, down below, he could see a dark form, half-buried in the snow.

His heart thudded in his chest. Was that a rock, or was it Sam?

“Sam!” he called, but there was no response. He urged his tauntaun down the hill. When he was halfway down the hill, Dean saw that the mass was indeed Sam. He jumped down from his tauntaun and hurried over.

“Sam! Sam, hey, it’s Dean!” He knelt down and shook the kid’s shoulder. He turned him over and gasped. The kid’s lips were blue; his face stark white, scratched up, caked with frozen blood and crusted with snow. Dean yanked his glove off and quickly but gently brushed the snow away from Sam’s face.

“Don’t be dead,” Dean pleaded, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Come on Sammy, don’t do this to me – Jo will kill me.” He propped Sam up and noticed his injured arm. “Damn it, I _told_ you to watch out for the wampas!”

Hot guilt swept over Dean – he shouldn’t have let Sam go out alone, first time on an ice planet, first time on a tauntaun. Hell, the kid didn’t know what a wampa even looked like. This was Dean’s fault; he hadn’t protected the kid like he should’ve, and now Jo’s brother was dead. How could he have been so goddamn stupid!

Dean fought back a lump of emotion and gave Sam another shake, trying to rouse him. “Come _on_!” He let Sam’s limp body fall back against his chest and fumbled against Sam’s icy neck, searching for a pulse. If there was one, it was too weak to make out.

Then Sam’s lips were moving, making faint sounds. Dean’s breath hitched. Relief flooded his chest and nearly choked him. He leaned his ear down.

“Dag…bah…” Sam whispered hoarsely, his voice terribly feeble. “Mom... Cas…tiel…”

Dean reared back. _He’s alive!_ “O-kay, someone is hysterical. Let’s get you back to warmth. C’mon now, Sammy, up you get.”

Getting Sam’s limp form up onto the tauntaun was extremely difficult, what with Sam being so tall and unable to help, but Dean managed. He climbed onto the tauntaun, and though the pair didn’t exactly fit – Dean had to sort of stand awkwardly in the stirrups of his saddle and lean back, holding the reins in one hand and Sam with the other – it was good enough for now. The tauntaun moved a lot slower with the weight of two riders, and it protested frequently with grumbling groans, but Dean urged it on.

Sam made a soft moaning noise every once in a while and Dean found himself nearly holding his breath in between them. Each new one meant Sam was still alive, while each silence threatened that Dean had lost him.

He rubbed Sam’s back. “Hold on, kid. Hold on.”

Far too much time passed in Dean’s frantic estimation, and then, as his luck would have it, his tauntaun decided _now_ was the moment to pack it in, its legs buckling as it let out a hideous, pathetic groan. Dean did his best to slide himself and Sam off the creature in the opposite direction so they wouldn’t be crushed by the falling beast. He landed with a heavy thump in the snow, Sam on top of him.

He should have known – tauntauns could only take so much distance before they needed a good long rest, and the pack had already been run pretty ragged with the earlier trip to put the sensors out. Frankly, he was lucky it had lasted this long.

He gently rolled Sam to the side and checked the sensing equipment still attached the tauntaun. The base wasn’t far, thankfully, though when Dean glanced back at Sam, he wasn’t sure if the kid was going to make it. Dean bit his lip, thoughts racing. He just needed to buy the kid a little more time…

“Oh _hell_ ,” Dean snarled. He shucked his gloves and worked them on over Sam’s frost-bitten hands. He unwrapped his thick scarf and lifted Sam up with one arm so he could wind the cloth around the kid’s face. He was hating this idea even as he continued doing it – trading Sam’s torn jacket for his own, swapping Sam’s ice-caked boots with his – but it was the best idea he had.

“ _Shit_ , Sam,” Dean complained, now decked out in Sam’s half-frozen, ripped up garb while his barely-conscious friend was wearing all of Dean’s body-heated outerwear. Dean knelt and looped Sam’s good arm across his shoulders, then struggled to his feet and started tromping forward, dragging Sam with him.

Dean gritted his teeth against the biting cold and pressed on, leaving the wheezing tauntaun behind.

 

~

 

Jo listened to the others surrounding her, but she made no response. Her eyes were glued to the crack in the bay doors.

“Darkness is falling – the temperature is dropping too fast, we have to close the doors.”

“There’s no way they both could have survived.”

“Maybe we should send a search party.”

“We’ll lose them too – it’s too cold and it’s getting dark.”

“We have to close the doors.”

“Please,” Jo begged, her voice wavering despite her best efforts. “Just give them a little more time. Do another scan – the blizzard is clearing.”

“There’s no guarantee – ”

“ _Please_.”

There was a heavy sigh behind her, followed by retreating footsteps. Jo kept her eyes trained on the doors. She tugged the collar of her coat closer to her chin. _I can’t lose you too, Sam,_ she thought, her eyes welling up with tears. _I can’t you lose you and Mom and Dean. I won’t make it if I lose all of you._

Suddenly there were shouts and hollers, and Jo’s heart rate spiked. A pair of techs shouted for her to come quickly and she ran for the bay doors. Outside in the snow, she could faintly see a lop-sided, lumpy shape struggling over the drifts. She snatched up a pair of gloves and tore out into the snow, several people hot on her heels.

“Dean!” Jo cried out. “Sam!”

She pounded over the icy ground, the cold air pricking at her exposed skin. She gasped at the sight of her brother and Dean and then coughed from the sharp intake of frozen air. Dean was shuddering, his face mottled white and blue. He slowly forced one foot in front of the other. His hands were bare and clutching Sam, who looked so horrible that Jo could feel tears freezing on her face.

“G-get h-him – m-med-d unit-t,” Dean stuttered through violently chattering teeth.

The handful of rebels who had run outside with Jo caught up to her and the boys as she ducked under Dean’s arm to give him support. The others hastily propped Sam between them, wary of his hurt arm, and another took up Dean’s other arm.

“We got you,” Jo reassured him. “I got you.”

 

~

 

The med unit was darkened with simulated night when Castiel entered it. He’d arrived less an hour ago, and had been greeted warmly by the rebels and friends working the night shift.

It was indeed technically night outside, though because the bunker was carved primarily underground and into a mountainside, the time of day had to be simulated inside to match. No natural light permeated the corridors, save for a handful of upper levels that had the occasional miniature skylight, when they weren’t buried under heaps of snow.

The former Jedi hadn’t had much time for pleasantries; he was on a mission. He inquired where he might find Bobby Singer and was on his way.

Cas was glad to be here. It hadn’t been easy – stealing the Imperial fighter had just been the beginning. After the _Impala_ had successfully blasted into hyperspace, Cas had still had to deal with a group of confused Imperials suddenly intent on shooting down the fighter that did not belong. It’d been a challenge and truth be told, Cas had barely made it out. He’d still been sapped after his battle with Azazel. It was only through the extraordinary power of the Force – finally flowing in him again, s _inging_ in his veins! – that he’d managed at all.

He’d escaped to the nearest planet and ditched the battle-worn fighter, exiting the smoking heap and getting himself immediately lost in a crowd. A few Force-infused mind-nudges later, and he was able to barter his way to a border moon nearby, and then steal a small, unlisted ship. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had to make it to the base somehow _and_ keep the Imperials, who were likely still pursuing him, off his trail lest he lead them to the rebels.

Cas saw several occupied beds in the intensive care section of the med bay, and did a double take when he recognized the occupants. He hurried over and exhaled a sigh of relief when it became apparent that Sam and Dean were asleep and recuperating, though it certainly looked like they’d been through the ringer.

Sam looked particularly rough. His arms were covered with bacta strips and his face sported several deep cuts under a layer of healing gel. His right arm was in a stabilizing cast, the edges faintly glowing blue, as it worked to mend his wounds. Much of Sam’s exposed skin was discolored from exposure and what looked like frostbite, though that would certainly be healed with some more intensive bacta treatments. Dean showed signs of frostbite as well, though far less than Sam.

The Jedi frowned, wishing he could linger to find out details about their respective conditions and what had caused it, but reminded himself that he’d see them again soon enough. He needed answers and to be on his way as soon as possible.

Cas hastened across the room and through another set of doors to the long term care area. Fewer beds were occupied here and Cas spotted the one he was searching for at once. He picked up a chair from beside the door and brought it over to Bobby Singer’s bed.

Cas waved his hand over Bobby’s sleeping form and the older man stirred. He blinked awake and his eyes widened in surprise when he realized Cas was staring down at him.

“ _You_. Castle… cats…”

“Castiel. Hello again,” said Cas softly. “I apologize for the hour, for waking you, and for startling you.”

“As you should,” said Bobby grumpily. He glanced around the room and his eyes landed unsurely back on Cas. “Look pal, I don’t mean to be rude, but what the hell – ”

“I know you have questions,” Cas interrupted, holding up his hand to stop Bobby from talking. “And I am sorry once again, but they will have to wait. I have questions for you first that cannot.”

Bobby grumbled under his breath, clearly disliking the situation. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

Cas took a breath. “I once… trained alongside a powerful Jedi woman. I was away on a mission when she departed the Order to pursue love and a family. I later learned she perished during the Clone War. We were never terribly close, but we did have a bond, and her presence was one that was familiar to me. I hadn’t felt it in more than twenty years, until that day on the Death Star.”

As the Jedi spoke, his suspicions were already being confirmed. Bobby didn’t appear confused or surprised. As Cas continued, Bobby seemed to brace himself as though he’d been expecting the Jedi’s words long before they were formed.

“Is Sam the son of Mary Campbell?” Cas asked, watching Bobby carefully.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” the other man replied. “What’d you really come here for?”

The former Jedi took a breath then whispered, “He’s not the only one, is he?”

Bobby shook his head and leveled his somber gaze at Cas. “That brings the number of people who are still alive and know that little piece of information to a grand total of two. I assume you understand the gravity of that and will act accordingly.”

Cas leaned back in his chair. Oh, he understood all right. In fact, he probably understood a great deal more than Bobby could even imagine in that moment. It was the answer Cas had assumed, been hoping for, knew in his gut but had to hear confirmed. The puzzle pieces were clicking into place in Castiel’s mind and he let his breath out slowly, feeling the weight of the galaxy settle onto his shoulders.

“I do understand,” Cas finally said, his thoughts reeling and pinging off the inside of his skull. He thanked Bobby and stood. “One more thing: when Sam visits you next, tell him that it is imperative he seek me out as soon as possible. I will wait for him, on Dagobah.”

“Dagobah?” Bobby repeated. “Why the hell would you pick – ”

Cas waved his hand over Bobby’s head, and before the older man finished his sentence, he dropped off to sleep. Cas smiled in affectionate amusement. This was a good man, Cas could tell, and he liked him, despite his gruffness.

The Jedi hurried out of long term care and cast a regretful look at the sleeping forms of Sam and Dean, before sweeping out of the med bay. He was long gone by the time they woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #6
> 
> Donna Hascum: Worked as a law enforcement officer in a small town on a small planet in a small corner of the galaxy. The planet was largely peaceful and the town even more so – Donna’s biggest cases generally involved lost pets and drunken pub brawls, with the occasional robbery to spice things up. She heard tell of the Empire from the spice traders that came through, but believed their planet to be too irrelevant to be included in the war. She was almost right too – it wasn’t until near the very end when the Imperials came knocking, taking over everything and unceremoniously firing Donna. She spent the next week all fired up, gathering the townspeople in a rebellion of her own… until the Empire fell and the Imperials fled. Donna never even had to lift a finger.


	17. Chapter 17

When Sam cracked his eyes open, he was happy to discover he was not dead. Either that or heaven (or hell) looked suspiciously a lot like the med bay of the rebel base on Hoth. He ached all over, feeling rather like he’d been trampled by a Bantha, but he was _warm_ so he let out a sigh of relief.

He saw Dean asleep in the bed beside him, and though Dean had a few bacta bandages on his hands and one on his cheek, he looked otherwise well. Sam wondered what had happened – the last thing he remembered was going crazy and collapsing in a blizzard.

Sam also noticed, with a jolt of surprise, that the lump on the chair jammed between his bed and Dean’s was Bela wrapped up in a blanket. She was bundled uncomfortably sideways, her head resting on the edge of Dean’s bed close to his pillow. One of her arms was resting on the blankets, holding Dean’s hand. Sam only had a moment to look – and see the way Dean shifted and smiled a little; he was clearly awake – before the other man opened his eyes and caught Sam watching.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, snatching his hand out of Bela’s grasp and sliding it under the blanket. “You’re looking chipper for a guy who basically froze to death last night.”

Bela stirred with a soft moan, and sat up, blinking sleepily at the boys in turn. “Oh good,” she mumbled. “You’re both alive.” She yawned, raking her fingers through her mussed up hair.

“What happened?” Sam asked. He tried to sit up a little better and groaned as his aching body protested. “Where’s Jo?”

“You got lost and found a wampa,” Dean explained. “Jo helped them get you into a bacta tank and she stayed until they said you were outta the woods. Then _she_ came.” He gestured with his thumb to Bela.

She scowled at him. “The woman needed sleep. I was passing by and offered to take a shift waiting by your bedside. Excuse me for caring.”

“Caring?” Dean repeated incredulously.

Sensing an argument, Sam cleared his throat. “So, how’d I get back? Back here, I mean. I just remember… a lot of snow.”

Dean broke off glaring at Bela and grinned at Sam. “That’d be me. And a tauntaun who, ah, didn’t make it. Went out after you when you didn’t come back.”

“Sorry,” Sam winced.

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Dean shrugged. “I’m the one who let you go out alone, your first time on an ice planet.”

His tone was light, but Sam could hear the edge of guilt there and felt worse. Dean _had_ warned him that wampas snuck up on their prey, after all. Sam had tried to be vigilant, but then while setting up the last sensor, he’d been focused on being done and getting out of the cold as soon as possible. He hadn’t bothered to keep close watch over his shoulder. That wasn’t Dean’s fault – it was all Sam.

“Don’t worry your pretty head,” said Bela, noting the tightness in Sam’s jaw. She tossed him a warm smile. “You made it back all right in the end, and that’s what counts.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Sam asked Dean, who shrugged again.

“Little hypothermia. _I_ didn’t go toe to toe with a wampa.” He eyed Sam, smirking a little. “You look like shit.”

Sam chuckled, hearing the note of relief and affection in the other man’s voice. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Bela, climbing to her feet. She leaned forward to gently grasp Sam’s chin, turning his face side to side.

He pointedly ignored the sudden flutter in his stomach at her touch.

“They’ve managed to keep your good looks despite a wampa slashing,” she said with a smile, fixing those pretty green eyes on him. “You’ll be fighting fit in no time – look like you could take on a Gundark right now.” She winked at him and moved her hand from his face to his shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze.

Sam laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up under her scrutiny. She was making him feel better despite the situation and he appreciated it.

Behind her, Dean rolled his eyes and snorted.

“What?” asked Bela, too innocently, and pulled her hand away from Sam.

“You’re nauseating,” Dean said. He threw off his covers and hauled himself out of bed. He scooped up the pile of clothes sitting neatly folded on small table beside his bed, and began pulling them on over the white t-shirt and shorts he was wearing.

“What?” she prompted.

“You with him,” Dean growled. He cringed as he peeled off the bacta bandage on his cheek and tossed it into the bio-hazard bin. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sam very much wanted to slither under the blankets and disappear. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Bela made a scoffing noise but surprised them both by forcing a change in subject, though her tone was much colder than it’d been moment before. “By the way, your friend Benny came by. He popped in to see how you were doing. Also to let me know that it’s apparently too dangerous for Ree and I to fly out of here until the base’s energy shield is restabilized after the ion storm a few days ago.”

Dean nodded in response and leaned down to zip up his boots.

Bela crossed her arms over her chest. “I must say, it’s cute that you’re trying to force me to stay here with you.”

There was a loud bang as Dean’s head hit the bed frame in his haste to stand up. He cursed and grabbed at his head. “I _what_?”

“You asked me to stay, I said no, so clearly you’ve invented – ”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Dean burst out. “I was out in a damn blizzard last night looking for him and you want to accuse me of coming up with some idiot scheme to make you stayhere?”

Sam desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. He shifted in his bed. He was still feeling pretty beaten up and moving to get out of the bed was harder than it should’ve been. He took it slow.

“Dean, relax. It wouldn’t be out of – ”

“Yes, actually, it would, because I actually have way bigger things to worry about than you,” Dean shot back. “Hell, I _want_ you to go – I want you as far away from here as possible, as soon as possible, if not sooner. I don’t want anything to do with you, and I sure as hell don’t know why I bothered asking you to stay and help the rebellion against the Empire. I know better.”

“I’m just, uh…” Sam murmured, swinging his legs over the bed and gingerly getting to his feet. “Just gonna… go…” If the other two heard him, they ignored him.

“You don’t want anything to do with me,” Bela repeated, one part amused and one part annoyed. “And here I thought you simply didn’t want to let me out of your sight after all.” She adopted a mocking tone as she added, “Dean, please. Don’t deny it, darling.”

Sam grabbed his shirt and began awkwardly maneuvering his injured arm through the sleeve. The metal stabilizing cast kept catching on the fabric, though thankfully he probably wouldn’t have to wear it too much longer – that was the miracle of bacta.

Dean shook his head and zipped up his jacket with unnecessary force. “If you really think that, or that I somehow orchestrated anyof this, you’re more delusional than I thought. Why don’t you go find something useful to do instead of making doe eyes at Sammy all day?”

Bela’s expression became stony.

Sam had his shirt half on, both arms pinned up under the fabric, when Bela turned on her heel, rounded the bed, marched straight up to him, and kissed him full on the mouth. He was too shocked to react for a second, and then when her hand snaked up his neck into his hair, he found himself kissing back. It was over as suddenly as it’d begun, Bela breaking off and offering him a lusty grin.

Sam struggled to catch his breath, feeling light-headed, his lips tingling.

The doors to the med unit opened and Ree entered, holding a handful of metal parts. She glanced between the three of them curiously with those huge eyes of hers, before letting out a series of clicks.

“No,” Dean growled in response, with a withering look at Bela. “What is it?”

Ree answered, and Dean tore his angry focus away from Bela. His expression cycled between shocked, sick, and worried.

“What?” He crossed the room in a hurry, snatching the parts from Ree’s hands.

Bela glanced between them, equally as worried, and Sam wished he could understand what the green alien was saying.

“What is it?” he asked, then louder because his voice was too croaky and quiet the first time. He struggled to shake off Bela’s kiss.

“A tracking device,” said Bela.

Sam’s heart stumbled a few beats. He felt a shiver that had nothing to do with hypothermia. “Are they coming? Did they follow us here?”

“It was fried,” Dean answered, turning the metal over in his hands. “But we have no idea how much got through.” He handed the part back to Ree. “It’s not gonna matter if the shield is stable or not if they show up in the next few hours.”

The four of them shared scared, anxious looks before Ree squeaked and Bela nodded and the pair of them rushed away. Dean hurried over to Sam and briskly helped him with his shirt.

“We’ll need to start the evacuation,” he said, standing back. “I gotta find Jo. Go sit with Bobby – we’ll come for you.”

Sam nodded. “Look, Dean, about what just – ”

Dean seized the pants laid out for Sam and threw them at Sam’s stomach, cutting him off. “And get some damn pants on,” he snapped, and strode out of the room.

Sam swallowed hard and got dressed as fast he could. He took a handful of meds from the tray affixed to the bot waiting on him, then limped out the door.

 

~

 

The majority of the probes came back with no real leads. Darth Azazel dispatched Destroyers to go after anything that seemed solid. It wasn’t until Commander Roman reported sensors had picked up a final ping from the failed tracking device that Azazel knew they really had something. The signal was fragmented at best, but it was enough to narrow the search for Winchester’s ship to a single system.

Azazel wasn’t about to let Winchester and those rebel bastards slip through his fingers again. He immediately boarded a transport ship and transferred from the Death Star to a waiting Destroyer. Destroyers had the ability to travel at hyperspeed, the Star did not. Azazel sent out orders for the Imperial fleet to follow.

Commander Roman accepted the order with fervor, and took over the fleet organization while Azazel went over plans for a surprise attack with General Zachariah and several others of his more senior staff. Once they reached the system, the Imperials would use long-range sensors to determine their next course of action. After they discovered the rebels’ exact position and scanned their defense system, they would swoop down and wipe them out.

Azazel couldn’t help a small, feral smile. They had a formidable fleet, they had the rebels’ location, and they had the element of surprise. When he gave his report that the scum were finally reduced to a smoking heap of corpses and rubble, the Emperor would be very pleased indeed.

When the fleet came blasting out of hyperspace into the Hoth system, however, Azazel frowned.

He’d had such high hopes for General Zachariah.

Zachariah, who had claimed the ping had been too weak to properly trace, despite assurances from Commander Roman that this was not the case. Zachariah, who had stated that the detection of an energy shield generator on Hoth didn’t necessarily equate a base full of rebels, though sensors indicated life on an ice planet that was supposed to be devoid of human life. Zachariah, who had brought the fleet out of hyperspace so close to Hoth that he assuredly tipped off the rebels below (who were clearly there after all) to an Imperial presence. The secondary energy shielding on the planet was up seconds after the Imperial fleet’s arrival, and that was all the evidence Azazel needed.

Zachariah, who was currently dead at the Sith Lord’s feet.

The Sith regarded the body with an air of boredom. “I ordered him to stay back and wait.” He turned his sinister yellow gaze to Commander Roman. “Since we’ve blown the element of surprise due to General Zachariah’s stupidity, organize a ground assault to get around that shield. Shoot anything that tries to escape the planet.”

“Right away, m’lord.” Roman nodded sharply, an arrogant tilt to his lips.

“Oh, and,” Azazel added, “Don’t screw this up. _General_ Roman.”

 

~

 

The alarms were blaring as Dean threw open the doors to the control room. He came barrelling in, with Jo hot on his heels, and didn’t waste a second.

“Tell me,” he said to Ash, who had sprung to his feet.

“Well, pal, d’you want the good news or the bad news?” he drawled. Dean made an impatient noise and Ash continued with a bob of his head. “The bad news is that those Imperial assholes are on our doorstep, knockin’ and fixin’ to come on in for dinner. The good news is those sensors y’all replaced did their job and we were able to get all our shields up in time.”

Dean exhaled in rush, feeling a little shaky. _Go time._

“They’ll be coming straight down for us then,” said Jo.

Dean nodded. “We need to evacuate.”

“I’ll sound the call.” Jo took off, grabbing Adam to help her.

Dean made for the main control stations when Ash held up a hand to stop him.

“Hold up, I ain’t even got to the best part yet,” he said.

Dean clenched his jaw. “ _What_ , Ash? We kind of have a situation here, so tell me – ”

“Dean-o, I think I found a crack.”

Dean stopped and for a second, thought he hadn’t heard Ash correctly. Then he thought maybe he did, but Ash didn’t mean what Dean thought he did.

“Ash?” he said, his heart racing.

Ash grinned and clarified, “There’s a hole in the Star, my friend.”

Dean wanted to cry with excitement and relief, but it was fast replaced by anxiety. The Imperials were scrambling to come down and destroy them right here and right now, and if they didn’t get the hell out of here, all Ash’s work finding that loophole would be for nothing.

Benny was shouting for Dean, so he settled for a hasty one-armed hug, laughing with a surge of exhilaration. Ash clapped him back, his usual lazy grin so wide it nearly bumped his ears.

 _We found it,_ Dean thought, head spinning as he hurried to Benny’s side. _We can end this._

All they had to do was make it out of here alive.

 

~

 

Sam rolled his shoulders. The conversation with Bobby centered on their conditions and levels of healing. A med bot removed the stabilizing cast on Sam’s arm and applied fresh bacta. The meds they’d given him were doing wonders; he no longer felt like he’d been shredded by nature and a wampa, though there was a lingering ache in his limbs and muscles.

Sam told Bobby about Ree and the tracker, and they shared uneasy looks when the alarms started blaring. Sam deliberated whether or not to go find Dean, but Bobby grasped his shoulder and became very serious.

“Sam… look, I gotta tell you somethin’,” the older man said and Sam felt his gut twist. “Already left it too damn long.”

“Bobby, you’re scaring me.”

“Oh hell, I’m not dying – it’s nothing like that,” Bobby waved him off. “Soon as you can, you get yourself to Dagobah.”

Sam felt like the air had been shoved out of his lungs and his body was frozen. He was unable to process what Bobby had just said. Sam hadn’t told anyone what Castiel said to him back on the Death Star, and he hadn’t told anyone about his vision of Mary in the snow. In fact, Sam had been pretty sure he’d made that image of her up – dreamed it while he was freezing to death and losing touch with reality.

“That Jedi, from the Death Star?” Bobby continued. “Dean’s friend. He came to see me last night.”

Sam stared. That made more sense. Castiel must have told Bobby what he’d told Sam. But last they’d seen of the Jedi, he was about to get sliced by the scary dude in black back on the Death Star. Dean had assumed he was dead after that, so why hadn’t the Jedi come to see Dean and assure him he was all right? Or had he done so, and Dean just didn’t think it was important to mention to anyone?

“Look, Sam…” Bobby sighed. “There’s so much… there’s a lot of things you don’t know. A lot of things… I never told you. Balls, this is difficult.”

“Bobby?” Sam prompted. His life had already been upended a dozen times in the past several days. He doubted anything else could shock him.

“Castiel knew your mother – your birth mother, Mary,” said Bobby.

Sam nodded – Cas had said so back on the Death Star. “He told he me could feel ‘echoes of her’ in me. Told me I was supposed to survive, and then come find him on Dagobah because… Bobby, he said I… he said I was the last Jedi.”

Sam thought this was a surprising piece of information and that Bobby would chuckle and tell him it was bantha fodder. But the older man simply nodded, his expression somber. This caught Sam off guard enough that he blurted that he’d hallucinated Mary in the snow, sure _that_ would garner a laugh. Once again, Bobby didn’t seem thrown, which in turn threw Sam even more.

“Son, I don’t think you imagined that,” said the older man. “I think what you had was a bonafide vision, and that just gives more fuel to Castiel’s theory.”

“I can’t be the last Jedi!” Sam sputtered, hopping to his feet. “I can’t, I – I’m just Sam Harvelle! I’m just a junker from Tatooine!” He raked his fingers through his hair. _This can’t be happening._

“Sam, you’re so much more,” said Bobby. His sigh was deep and exhausted. He looked like he was about to explain further when Jo rushed into the ward, out of breath, her cheeks flushed pink.

“They’re here,” she said. She was as good at keeping the fear out of her voice. “We’re evacuating right now. Bobby, you’ll be going with the medical teams and the other wounded.”

Bobby protested, “I’m not shippin’ out with the invalids. Let me help.”

Jo glared at him. “We need pilots, and – ”

“I don’t need to be able to walk to pilot a ship, damn it,” Bobby growled. “And I sure as hell don’t need to be coddled like some – ”

“ _Bobby,_ ” Jo snapped, not unkindly. “There’s no time. They’re coming in for a surface attack, and we need everyone gone right now, except our best pilots.” She jabbed her thumb at Sam.

“Balls,” Bobby mumbled. “Hell, I know. I’m just tired of being useless.”

Jo spared him an affectionate smile before turning to her brother. She nodded her chin at his bacta-patched arm. “You good to fly?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Let’s go.” To Bobby, she added, “We’ll see you at the rendezvous.” She dashed to the door.

“Bobby,” Sam began hesitantly, but the older man waved him off.

“Go, Sam,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” He fixed him with a meaningful gaze and repeated, “ _Go._ ”

Sam swallowed. _Dagobah._ He still wasn’t sure what to do about that, and wished he had more time to talk to Bobby about it, or Jo, or even Dean who knew Castiel.

Jo told him to hurry, and Bobby waved him off again. Sam reluctantly bid his friend goodbye, and followed his sister out of the med unit.

“You okay?” she asked, as they bustled down the icy halls that were teeming with activity. She’d always been able to read him easily.

Sam pushed his fingers through his hair with one hand, keeping his sore arm close to his chest. He wanted to sit down and have a full conversation with Jo about everything, but there was simply no time. He hated having to quickly summarize it for her as they ran for the hangar bay, but he needed her to know about Dagobah and Cas in case they got separated in battle. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to seek out Cas or not, but if he did, it was going to be as soon as possible.

She at least seemed appropriately surprised when he told her what Cas had said. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She blew air out her lips as the information sunk in. “I always knew you were special,” she said a beat later, only half-teasing.

Sam gently grasped her elbow and pulled her off to the side. “Jo, what do I do?”

She pressed her lips together, looking thoughtful and a little conflicted, before her expression cleared. “You should do it,” she replied. “You should go.”

Sam blinked, unsure. “Jo, I don’t even know this guy – I don’t know if he’s for real, or he’s just nuts. And I don’t love the idea of running off to some Outer Rim planet just because he claims he knew my birth mom.”

Jo laughed. “Sam, _I_ know Cas. He’s a good guy. He… he has some baggage, but he’s a good dude, and he’s Dean’s best friend. I’d trust him – at least hear what he has to say.”

Sam shifted uneasily. “But I… I just got you back. And the Alliance needs my help – I just got here, to help, like I’ve wanted to for _years_ and I can’t leave, I…” He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair again, mussing it up.

He was frustrated and he didn’t know why. Was his reluctance to leave really because of Jo and because he felt needed? Was it because the idea of being labelled something as massive as _the last Jedi_ was terrifying and he wanted to avoid it? Was it something else? He felt a spike of grief in his chest as he thought of Ellen – she’d know what to tell him.

Jo, as usual, seemed to guess his thoughts and wrapped in him quick, tight hug. “Oh, Sam….”

When she pulled back, she fixed her eyes on his. “Go check out if he’s a nut job or not, and report back. Or, go become a totally wicked-awesome Jedi like your birth mom and report back.” Her lips quirked into a half-smile. “Either way, I’ll be waiting right here for your stories. Well, at the other base, not here. You know what I mean.”

Sam chuckled. She was right. Jo and Dean both knew Castiel well, so it was more a matter of discovering how and why he believed Sam was supposedly the last Jedi, and what that really meant.

He tugged his sister into another quick hug. “Thanks, Jo.”

“Anytime.” She gave him a squeeze. “But we better go blow up some Imperial ass now, or you’re not gonna get out of here at all.”

They broke apart and hurried down the corridor.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Flak” means antiaircraft fire or gunfire as experienced by the crews in airplanes/ships at which the fire is directed.

Flying had always come exceptionally easy to Sam. There hadn’t been a vehicle on Tatooine that he hadn’t figured out how to pilot, and pilot well, very quickly, which drove Jo a little nuts because she was terribly competitive. She wanted to beat him or at least be as good as him and had never been. Still, she’d always enjoyed tearing around the canyons and dunes with Sam at the helm, as he effortlessly banked around corners that were too tight for others to attempt.

Sam took off from the hangar bay with dozens of other speeders and he found that these vehicles were no exception to the rule that he was a damn good pilot. He tore over the snow with ease, as if he’d been doing it all his life, and there were appreciative whistles over the comms from Ash and Benny, while Jo alternatively bragged and pouted about his abilities.

“Hell, boy, where’d you learn to do that?” said Ash.

“Beggar’s Canyon,” Sam grinned.

In the co-pilot seat at his back, Adam clucked with appreciation. “I’ve seen that place. You must be suicidal to play there.”

Sam laughed. “No, just bored.”

“You call that _fun_?”

“Clearly you haven’t spent much time on Tatooine!”

“Okay, boys, stow the chatter,” Jo ordered, her voice changing from casual Jo to Rebel Leader Jo in a second. “Heads up – here they come. Echo group, attack pattern Delta.”

Sure enough, massive Imperial walkers marched into view on the misty horizon. Sam felt a jolt in stomach at the sight – they were huge, imposing metal beasts. Seconds later, the walkers’ guns were blasting and the battle had begun.

The rebels took a beating in the initial barrage. There were explosions left and right. The speeder pilots did their best to get in the way of the walkers, slow them up, and take them down. The armor and shielding on the walkers proved to be stronger than the speeder’s blasterfire, however, which meant taking them down turned into a much more difficult task. All the while, Echo Base periodically reported transport ships full of personnel evacuating the planet one by one.

Another bolt from a walker glanced past Sam and Adam’s speeder, narrowly missing them, but slicing into a speeder to their left. It exploded in an orange fireball and smashed into the snow. Sam mumbled some choice words as he veered expertly around the great metal beast.

“We’re getting hammered out here,” said Adam as the speeder shook with the force of another near miss.

“We just have to keep them away from the shield generator for as long as we can,” Sam reminded him. He accelerated the speeder in a wide arc around the nearest walker, letting loose a round of blasterfire that dissipated harmlessly off the plodding metal legs.

“It’s not gonna be long at all if we can’t bring some down,” Adam said, his voice grim.

As Sam steered the speeder around another walker, he smiled with sudden inspiration. “Adam? Get the harpoon and tow cable ready.”

Adam hurried to do as he was told, catching on to Sam’s idea, and Sam swung the speeder around to aim for the legs of one of the walkers. The speeder bounced and weaved, taking a few direct hits to the forward energy shielding, but Sam coaxed it on through the flak. As they drew up close to the plodding walker, he instructed Adam to activate the harpoon. It slammed home, embedding deep in the leg of the walker.

“Perfect!” Sam grinned, and pushed the speeder in a tight circle around the walker. The cable attached to the harpoon flew out of the speeder, winding around the walker’s knees like thread on a finger.

“Almost there,” reported Adam. The cable spooled out rapidly as Sam looped around the walker.

Sam banked the speeder around the legs a third time, and just as he saw the red light indicate they were out of cable, Adam shouted, “Detaching cable!”

He slapped a switch and the cable snapped off. Sam peeled away from the walker. The tangle of heavy-calibre cable worked exactly as Sam hoped it would: the walker suddenly struggled to take another step, its legs rendered immobile. Its gears grinding, it toppled over with a colossal crash. Adam and Sam cheered their victory.

“Rogue group,” Sam said breathlessly into the comms. “Use your tow cables – trip the bastards up!”

“Copy, Rogue Three,” came Benny, followed by several others.  

“Shall we bag us another?” Sam casually asked his co-pilot.

Adam laughed. “Hell yeah!”

Sam gunned the engine and tore off after the next closest walker, marching relentlessly towards the shield generator. He and Adam repeated the same procedure – approach fast and low, ready the harpoon, and –

An explosion rocked the speeder and it careened to the right. Sam fought for control. A heart-skittering moment later, he righted the speeder.

“That was close,” he coughed at the smoky residue from the blast, and belatedly realized there was cold air sucking in behind him. Sam’s gut twisted as he glanced over his shoulder. “Adam?”

His co-pilot’s head was bobbing lifelessly as the console before him smoked and sparked. Sam blinked back the sting in his eyes.

“Echo leader, I’ve lost my co-pilot,” Sam reported and forced himself to focus straight ahead. He could see the other pilots employing his strategy with the tow cables and smiled a little.

Sam only had another second to wonder what good he was now that the controls to the harpoon were fried and his co-pilot was dead, when another heavy blaster hit tore into the speeder. Sam cried out as his ship went careening towards the ice and snow below.

 

~

 

Dean was on his feet, running between consoles, calling instructions into his headset, and coordinating the base’s evacuation.

“Send all troops in sector twelve to the south slope,” he shouted.

The room was rocked by an explosion overhead, sending chunks of snow and ice tumbling down from cracks in the roof. Dean ducked to the side, covering his head with his arm.

“To the south slope,” he repeated over the noise. “To protect the fighters. Repeat, send all troops in sector twelve to the south slope!”

He helped up a woman who’d fallen out of her chair. The whole command center was in chaos – snow and ice crumbled in with each new blast. Half the control boards were sparking and damaged, and Dean was down to one working board in the far corner and three rebels who had yet to evacuate.

As he listened to the radio chatter and reports of the ongoing battle, his eyes shot up in surprise when Bela appeared in the doorway. She began picking her way across the debris-filled room.

He popped the headset off. “What the hell are you still doing here?” he demanded. He was sure she’d have been long gone by now, and especially once the attack got underway – she was never one to stay in a hot spot; her self-preservation instincts were far too strong.

“We _were_ trying to – we’re still in the middle of repairing the damn ship! Heard the command center had been hit,” she explained, climbing around piles of ice and broken chairs. “It is rather a mess, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean moaned. Was this her way of saying she was worried about him or something? He scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand and turned his back on Bela – he _so_ did not have time to deal with her right now – and pulled the headset back on.

“Copy, evacuation code for ground staff,” he said, leaning down to tap several keys at the monitor before him. “Kay-one-zero, retreat…”

He spouted off a dozen instructions for the soldiers and remaining base staff. It took him a minute to realize Bela was addressing him again.

“What?” He whirled on her. “Seriously, why are you still here?”

“I said we can’t leave until the ship is properly fixed and – ”

“You’re telling me this _now_? Damn it, Bela!”

Bela threw up her hands in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know the Imperials were going to attack!”

Dean ignored her, facing his console to relay the final retreat orders for the Rebels and for the last transports to prepare for take-off. He yanked the headset off and tossed it amongst the debris. The remaining rebels in the room jumped up and made for the door.

“Come on,” Dean growled, grabbing Bela’s arm.

Behind them, the radio crackled loudly. “ _Imperial troops have entered the base – repeat, Imperials troops have entered…”_

Bela blanched. “ _What_ – ?”

“Come _on_ ,” Dean urged through his teeth and hauled her out of the room.

If the Imperials were coming in from the east as expected, then the collapsed corridors down that way were going to slow them down. He realized he was cutting it awfully close by still being in the base at this point, but someone had had to stay behind to the last second to ensure the final transports made it off the ground.

Together Dean and Bela ran down the crumbling halls, dodging falling ice. They bolted into the main hangar bay where the _Impala_ was docked. Ree waved her arms, frantically clicking and squealing at the ship and the ice dropping in chunks from the high hangar ceiling.

 _This place is coming down! They said the Imperials are inside! Bela, where the hell_ –

“I know, I _know_ ,” Dean snarled, cutting her off. He snatched his commlink from his belt. “Transport, this is Winchester. Take off – I’m with Bela Talbot on the _Impala_. Copy.” He shoved it into his pocket and sprinted up the _Impala’s_ ramp, Ree and Bela hot on his heels.

Ree took off for the cockpit while Bela yelled that they were completely screwed. Dean ignored her and barreled into the engine room.

 _What the hell has she done to you, Baby?_ he thought, his eyes scanning the familiar engine parts. It wasn’t all torn apart as it’d been the other night, but sections had clearly been hastily put back together. He both heard and felt the ship start up around him and glanced back at Bela.

“What’s the problem?” he barked. He ran his hands over the panels, popping a few of them off and peering at the metal, wires, and gears within.

“She starts up…” Bela trailed off as the ship’s engine puttered and wound down with a pained moan. “And then she does that. We weren’t finished the repairs from our daring rescue.”

The Imperials were going to be pouring into the hangar bay at any second. At least he had a pretty good idea what the problem was, based on the noises his Baby was making. She’d done it to him a few years ago when he’d retrofitted some of the main engine.

“Damn it, Bela, you didn’t tighten the alluvial dampers all the way!” He reached past her to snatch up a set of tools and got to work as fast he could. “She can’t fire up like that.”

“I’m not a bloody brilliant mechanic!” she replied hotly. “I’m doing the best I – ”

Ree’s agitated voice came over the intercom, drowning out Bela’s protests. _Whatever you’re doing in there, do it faster – they’re here!_

Bela scrubbed her hands through her hair. She mumbled out a string of words that weren’t Basic, but he didn’t miss their meaning.

“Next time you decide to take apart my ship,” Dean growled. “Put her back together properly, so we don’t find ourselves about to get shot up by Imperials!” he finished with a shout, slamming the cover back over the corrected dampers.

“I was trying to fix it,” Bela argued. “After getting it all shot to hell, rescuing your ass!”

He whacked the intercom button with his fist and instructed Ree, “Try it now!”

The engine hummed to life around them, and this time it continued revving until it was at full power. It still sounded a little shaky, but she was running. Dean had just a half second to grin in relief before the ship was rocked by an explosion. Dean and Bela tore down the corridors to the cockpit where Ree was flipping switches and pressing buttons as fast her long fingers allowed her. Outside in the hangar bay, Dean could see a half-dozen Imperial troops setting up two massive blaster cannons.

Dean jumped into the pilot’s chair and joined Ree in the flight preparations.

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Bela.

“Getting us the hell out of here,” Dean replied. “And don’t you dare give me any bullshit about whose ship this is, or I swear I will knock you out and throw you in – ”

“I would absolutely like to see you try, darling, now get out of – ”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m the better pilot – ”

“Oh, like _hell_ – ”

 _Shut up!_ Ree squealed. _You can fight later when we are not about to die!_

Bela opened her mouth to argue some more but a new volley from the Imperials and their now operation guns buffeted the ship. She wisely sat down instead and buckled up. Dean jammed the ignition and couldn’t help the satisfied smile that stole across his lips as the _Impala_ blasted out of the hangar.

God, it felt good to fly her again.

“This is all well and good, but how do you expect to get us past the blockade, hmm?” Bela huffed from behind Dean.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart. Watch and learn.”

 

~

 

By the time Sam was able to extricate himself from his downed speeder, the Rebels were in full retreat. They knew they wouldn’t be able to defeat the Imperials in this skirmish; the intent had only ever been to slow them down.

Sam re-tied his scarf around his face and took off at a hard run across the snow, toward the west, leaving the smoking wreckage of his speeder behind. He was a bit banged and bruised from his crash, but otherwise all right. He gently moved his sore arm and was glad he hadn’t made it worse.

The Imperial walkers had gone farther ahead to the south, focused on the main shield generator rather than the darting bodies below. The wind cut at his exposed skin, but the sun was bright and its warmth countered the cold a little.

Sam scrambled over a snowy ridge, across a wide icy plateau, and down the other side of a second ridge to a clearing where a number of the Rebels were gathering in the battle aftermath. He caught sight of Jo’s familiar blonde braid amongst all the jackets and goggles, and hurried over to her.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she breathed with relief, pulling him into a quick hug.

Sam gave her a squeeze before leaning back and yanking his scarf off his mouth. “Adam’s gone,” he said grimly.

Jo nodded and slipped her own scarf down onto her chin. “I heard that much on the comms but then they lost you. I was worried.” She shot him a tight smile then ducked her head.

His hand didn’t leave her shoulder for a moment. “You all right?”

“Cost of war,” she sighed and rubbed at her temple with a gloved hand. Jo shook her head with another sigh and instantly the emotion was buried and gone. It broke Sam’s heart to see how used to this kind of loss Jo was, how she simply didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Well?” she said, forcing another smile on her face and blinking up at him in the sunlight. “I’ve got things to do, brother of mine, so what’s it to be? To Cas or not to Cas?”

Sam couldn’t help chuckling. He bit his lip then asked, “So you think I should go?”

Jo fixed him with one of her _Sam-you-are-an-adorable-idiot_ looks. “I think we already had this conversation.” She gestured across the snow to a bank of X-Wings that were getting fuelled up for the remaining pilots. “Look at it like you’re going on an adventure.”

Sam’s stomach flipped over with a mix of fear and nerves at the idea of taking off to Dagobah. “I’m not what he thinks I am, Jo. I don’t know what you’re expecting to come out of this.”

“You never know. That’s what makes it an adventure.” Jo gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, Sam.”

He smiled and watched her walk away, readjusting her scarf, tossing out orders and organizing troops. Another minute after, Sam gathered his courage and made for the line of X-Wings his sister had indicated. Benny selected one that was ready to go and helped Sam into it.

Sam blasted out of Hoth’s atmosphere, bound for the Dagobah system. He took a shaky breath as stars streaked past, hoping he was doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #7:
> 
> Pamela Barnes: Was running guns on an Outer Rim territory, quite successfully, for years. She had dealings with the Tatooine gangster Lillith, but largely kept her operation self-contained and self-sufficient. That is, until the long arm of the Galactic Empire came for her, destroying her operation and killing those in her service. Pamela managed to escape with her life and eventually joined the Alliance, working for the greater good instead of just her own good. She was killed at the Battle of Hoth when the transport she was escaping in failed to make it past the Imperial blockade.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay boys and girls, here’s where things get a little sticky. The timeline in Empire is a little sketchy. Basically no one has a definitive answer on how long things took from Luke and the gang leaving Hoth to facing Vader et al in Cloud City (some people say Luke’s training was anywhere from 3 days to six months, yet the Falcon timeline seems to be anywhere from a few hours to a month). Trust me when I say I have spent way too much time researching this, but from here on, this is me trying to create a happy medium timeline that hopefully makes sense.

Dean wrenched on the controls of the _Impala_ , swerving the ship to the right. Flak exploded outside the viewscreen. They were taking heavy fire and the deflector shield was starting to fail.

“Did the transports make it through this shit-show?”

 _I can’t raise them_ , said Ree. _Our comm systems are damaged._

“Damn it! ” Dean heaved the ship sharply left. He knew whoever made it out would head for the rendezvous point. With this many damn Imperials dotting the sky however, he worried that the number of survivors would be horribly small.

He expertly swung the ship in steep climb then veered back to the right. Two massive Star Destroyers were bearing down on them. A blast from one of their lasercannons cracked against the _Impala_ ’s shield.

“Would you like me give it a try?” Bela said sharply from the navigation seat behind him.

“I can out fly these bastards!” Dean shot back.

He pulled the _Impala_ around in a hard arc towards the Destroyers. Bela started sputtering in protest and he barked at her to shut up as he gunned the engine, praying his Baby held together as long as he needed her to. The ship bucked under another hit from the TIE fighters on their tail and Ree worriedly reported the status of the shield.

Dean barely heard her. He flew directly at the Destroyers and then shoved the _Impala_ into a sharp nosedive. The view changed from Destroyers to stars as they plunged. Bela gasped. She’d done her fair share of fancy flying, he had no doubt – had seen her in action, and he had to admit she had guts – but she didn’t fly like him. Nobody did.

Dean brought the _Impala_ screaming upwards a moment later, spinning sideways and around in a tight loop. He laughed when they leveled out and the Destroyers were in their view again. They were nearly ramming into each other in their haste to corner Dean, not expecting him to slip between them at such a high speed. The five trailing TIE fighters squeaked around the ships and tore after Dean, firing en masse and peppering the blackness of space with bolts of green and red.

“Lightspeed,” Dean ordered as he coaxed the _Impala_ into some evasive maneuvers. He relied on his experience and pure gut instinct, guiding the ship this way and that. “Now!”

Ree reached up to flick switches above their heads. Her hands darted across the controls and Dean sucked in his breath when she pulled down the handle that would spur the ship to lightspeed. Baby revved and rumbled… then sputtered like a dying tauntaun.

“Son of bitch!” He wanted to slam his fist onto the console or ream Bela out for screwing up his ship, but he had time for neither. The Destroyers were untangling and heading their way again.

“Take over!” he barked and hopped out of his seat.

Bela unbuckled and, for once, did as she was told.

In the engine room, Dean snatched up the toolbox and levered open a maintenance hatch. Jamming a wrench between his teeth and a hydrospanner into his belt, he slipped in between the bars and cables, cursing Bela all the while. Never mind that she’d gotten him off the Death Star, she’d torn up Baby in the process and then didn’t fix her right. This was seriously the last straw in a long line of last straws.

He was _definitely_ going to kill her. If the Imperials didn’t first.

The ship shook under a volley of hits from the fighters outside and Dean growled as he made some quick tweaks with the wrench. He switched to the hydrospanner, then fished in his pocket for his comm.

“Try it now,” he called.

The ship hummed around him as Ree obliged on her end, but then the hyperdrive moaned and petered out again. Before Dean had the chance to make another adjustment to the mass of panels and engine inner-workings before him, the ship lurched so hard that Dean smashed his head on the side of the maintenance crawlspace, hard enough to make his vision flash white.

 _That wasn’t blasterfire_ , he thought with a flutter of panic, blinking and clutching his head. “What the hell!”

“Dean, get up here!” Bela hollered over the ship-wide intercom.

Dean was on his feet and pounding back to the cockpit.

“We seem to have stumbled across an asteroid field,” she informed him when he came panting in.

“What?”

She gestured one-handed to the viewscreen and gave the controls a wrench to avoid getting hit by a small red asteroid. She didn’t quite succeed, however, and an incredible _boom_ quaked the ship as the rock impacted the hull.

“Where are they?” asked Dean, reaching over Bela’s shoulder to jab at some buttons. He fiercely ignored his throbbing head.

“Right behind us,” she reported. “We’re dead in the water without the hyperdrive.”

“Not necessarily,” said Dean and gestured for Bela to switch places with him.

She shot him an incredulous look but complied, so stunned by what she guessed he was planning that she refrained from the usual arguing.

“You’re not thinking of flying into this.” It was half fearful question and half flat statement.

“Buckle up,” was Dean’s only reply.

Bela took her seat behind Dean in the navigation chair. “I assume you have some entirely clever plan up your sleeve that I haven’t considered yet, and there is absolutely a good reason for risking our necks in a bloody asteroid field.”

Dean smirked. “Something like that.” He gunned the engine, steering the _Impala_ towards the sea of shifting, uneven rocks floating in every direction.

Bela yelped and Ree squeaked, but Dean pressed on, even as they both laid into him with a variety of warnings and protests.

“Darling, you cannot be serious!”

 _You can’t just fly us into an asteroid field! Never mind the Imperials,_ you’re _going to get us killed!_

“Hey, they’d be crazy to follow us, right?” Dean quipped.

He ignored Bela’s continued freak-out and focused on the _Impala_ , on his hands tight on the controls. Adrenaline coursed through him, his every sense tingled. He hadn’t felt this alive in eons. He was liquid, he was fire, and he could do this. _Nobody flies like me and Baby._

He eased left then pushed the ship right, tumbled down so close to one big asteroid that there must’ve been only a hair of space between it and the ship’s hull.

Bela went quiet, either too scared or too stunned to continue complaining. Ree watched the viewscreen with sharp, focused eyes, making adjustments as they went. A sheen of nervous blue-tinged sweat broke out on her face, but she too fell silent to allow Dean to concentrate.

A set of pin-wheeling asteroids collided in front of the ship and Dean guided the _Impala_ through the debris-strewn aftermath. Their shields were nearly shot to hell, but they could still take small flak. They were jostled by chunks of asteroid, but they avoided a far larger one in the process. It was big enough to flatten them and Bela cried out, clapping her hands over her mouth when it shifted close. Dean expertly steered them below the massive rock.

Dean allowed himself a little smile: the farther he pushed the _Impala_ into the asteroid field, the less blasterfire resounded behind them.

“You know, if you’re doing this to impress me,” said Bela shakily. “Or if this is some sort of misguided attempt to get me killed, might I remind you that _you_ are aboard this ship, as well as Ree, who really is quite lovely…”

“Can it, Bela,” Dean retorted without heat.

He banked the ship hard to the right, then turned her fully on her side to skirt around another giant asteroid. An explosion jerked them from behind and a quick glance at the readouts showed several of their pursuers had just become space dust.

“Hah!” he laughed with a triumphant grin.

Ree squeaked and Dean paid for his split second lapse in concentration as a small asteroid clipped the _Impala_ , jolting it sharply.

“Whoops.” Dean wrestled the controls and narrowly missed taking them into the face of a rock twice their size that rolled into view.

“I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about your piloting,” Bela said in a rush, fear bleeding into every word. “Just, for the love of God, get us out of here alive, _now_.”

 _The longer we stay out here, the higher our chances of getting smooshed_ , Ree agreed. _Your excellent skills or not, there’s been too many close calls._

Dean frowned. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m taking us to that big one.”

“You’re _what_?” Bela sputtered.

“Hey, I actually have a plan now, so,” Dean shrugged. “Be happy.”

“You didn’t before?”

Dean refrained from answering and instead made a loud shushing noise in Bela’s direction.

The viewscreen soon depicted a massive asteroid, the size of a small moon, rolling slow and steady amongst the expansive field. Dean pushed his ship in close, skimming across the rocky surface. There were huge craters, tall ridges, and wide valleys criss-crossing the asteroid’s surface. His attention caught on one crater in particular.

“Here we are,” he mumbled. “That looks all right.” His eyes darted to the readouts and he made for the crater and tunnel below, sending the _Impala_ diving into the black abyss.

He could feel Bela opening her mouth to make a hundred and one comments, and he held up a finger without looking at her.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Just wait.”

Ree flipped on the ship’s guiding lights as Dean gently flew the ship farther into the asteroid, deeper and deeper until the readouts showed the cave’s entrance was nothing more than a pinprick of light far behind them.

As he got ready to land the _Impala_ , he allowed himself a satisfied smirk. He’d not only outrun the Imperials, in a damn asteroid field no less, he knew they’d destroyed most if not all of the TIE fighters pursuing them in the process. No doubt the Destroyers had taken some solid damage too, which was a nice thought. And now he was parking beneath a few hundred layers of rock, which made the _Impala_ effectively invisible to any kind of scan the Imperials might try. It bought them some time and some modicum of temporary safety.

He powered Baby down, smile still tugging on his lips, then swivelled to face Bela. She was scowling at him.

“Well?” he prompted. When she didn’t immediately reply, Dean said, “Told you I’d out fly ‘em. What was that about my piloting skills?”

“That was needlessly reckless,” she sniped.

“Oh come on, you would’ve done the same.”

Bela shook her head and stood. “No darling, I’m risky, not suicidal. There’s a difference.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear you coming up with a better plan.”

“Almost anything is better than flying into an asteroid field!” said Bela. “Have you considered how we’re going to get out of said field?”

“The same way we flew in!” Dean shot back hotly. “The same way _I_ flew in. I’m buying us a bunch of time here to settle in and fix the ship.” He turned his back on her, shaking his head. “Some gratitude would be nice.”

“You’re impossible.”

“ _I’m_ _–_ ?” Dean spluttered, but stopped himself from rising to her bait.

He heard her footsteps exit the cockpit a second later, and he spun around to call after her, “You’re welcome for the rescue by the way!” Dean faced the viewscreen again, grumbling under his breath. “Thanks for the back-up,” he growled at Ree.

 _Hey, while I_ am _thankful I am not a smear on a rock_ , she clicked in reply. _I kind of have to agree with her on this one – you don’t fly into an asteroid field. You just don’t – it’s far too dangerous._

Dean sighed. Maybe they had a point, but– “We were out of options.”

 _I know._ Ree nodded. _Outta the frying pan…_

Dean exhaled loudly again and carded his fingers through his hair. “Well, let’s get Baby properly fixed so we don’t have to do this again. The sooner we can get back out there, the sooner we can catch up with the rest of the Alliance and you two can be on your way.”

Ree’s expression turned apologetic at the sudden bitterness in Dean’s voice, but he waved his hand at her.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Just…”

He didn’t need to have the usual ‘oh but she really does care for you deep down’conversation with Ree. He’d had it too many times over the years and was tired of trying to believe it.

“Don’t.”

Ree thankfully obliged, staying quiet for a minute, before tactfully changing the subject. She and Dean swiftly got to work figuring out what needed to be repaired on the damaged _Impala_.

 

~

 

Despite Sam’s best efforts, his arrival on Dagobah was not smooth.

As soon as he hit atmo, he was blinded by thick fog in every direction. His dashboard lit up with conflicting alarms and his scopes went dead. Branches and vines seemed to appear out of thin air and slap at his ship as he descended roughly through the opaque gray fog.

Sam worked to keep his ship more or less steady as he started the landing cycle. “Crap, crap, crap!”

His ship lurched and crunched as it slammed into land, sliding forward on the wet mossy ground and bouncing over rocks. Sam wrestled the controls until the ship came to a shuddering halt in a sizable swamp.

 _That was graceful_. He shook his head and frowned. Getting the ship back out was going to be interesting. Sam unbuckled and popped open the X-Wing’s cockpit hatch.

A wave of warm, thick air poured in and the wet smell hit him like he’d walked into a wall. It was so humid Sam felt like he couldn’t breathe and he coughed a few times to clear the sensation. He stood up and climbed out of the X-Wing, grimly realizing he’d have to swim to shore.

He absolutely hated the idea of leaping into the dark green and brown water on this alien planet, but there was no other way he could get to land. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and jumped into the water.

The swamp was warm, which he appreciated, but Sam wasted no time and swam as fast he could to the shoreline. The water was murky, slimy, and smelly. He had visions of something horrible grabbing his ankle and pulling him under. He scrambled up the mossy bank, grabbing at slippery tree roots to haul himself out of the water all the faster.

The fog wasn’t quite so heavy this close to the ground, though it was still thick enough above him to make it feel like it was nearly dusk. Mist swirled over the water where his X-Wing was smoking. As Sam settled down on a boulder, he watched biazrre winged creatures flying lazily overhead between the massive trees. They squawked loudly, joining the murmur of creature noises echoing through the mist. Everything felt alive and completely eerie; Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Sitting and observing the strange world around him, Sam realized his stupidity. Now that he was here, how was he actually supposed to find Castiel? The guy hadn’t exactly left a map or a set of coordinates, and Sam wasn’t keen on the idea of tromping around the whole weird planet looking for him.

He pressed his hand over his eyes. _Idiot._ Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?

Rather at a loss and hoping Cas would find _him_ , Sam decided the best thing he could do was stay put. With any luck, Castiel had somehow detected Sam’s arrival and was on his way.

In the meantime, Sam decided to get the survival supplies from the X-Wing and make himself a little camp-site. He bit his lip and took another look at his surroundings. Perhaps it was irrational, but he felt safer in sight of his X-Wing even if it wasn’t exactly flyable in its current condition. He opted to set himself up in view of it and got to work gathering logs and vines to bind together to build the short bridge needed to access the ship. He sure as hell wasn’t going swimming in the murky water again.

He grabbed trunks and crates with spare clothes and rations first, followed by a couple of plasma lanterns for light and a fusion furnace for warmth in case it got chilly. He arranged the crates in a semi-circle beneath a canopy of twining branches from a pair of huge trees. Sam stripped out of his sticky, soggy flight suit and changed into the gray spare clothes he found folded neatly in one of the trunks. Even in the fresh set of dry clothes it didn’t take long for Sam’s collar to feel damp. He almost smiled at the thought that in less than a week he’d managed to visit two planets that were the absolute opposite of Tatooine.

Once his small makeshift campsite was set up, Sam started to feel restless and useless. Maybe he should be trying to find Castiel after all – but where was he supposed to look, and how? He tried checking for other lifeforms with the scanner from the toolbox and the thing overloaded. It was an old model, so it had no way to narrow down the life signals to human only (and that was assuming Cas even was human – Sam had seen his fair share of aliens in Mos Eisely who looked basic-human and were distinctly not).

He abandoned the scanner and attempted to make a meal out of one of the ration packs. The first protein bar was sandy and tasteless, and the second was gummy and pasty. He washed them down with some filtered, bagged water and didn’t bother to try for thirds. He shuddered, trying not to gag on the dusty aftertaste. He didn’t know how pilots could eat those things.

Sam stood up to explore a little bit, though he didn’t go far, lest he get himself lost in the mist. He found more dense foliage wrapped in moss, and more swamps and boggy areas. He picked his way carefully over slippery rocks and ducked around hanging vines and found some areas that were simple clearings of mud and rocks. Though he continued to hear animal life all around him, he didn’t see anything more than a few lizard-like things and the occasional winged creature gliding by. Both species were entirely uninterested him and that helped put him at ease.

Night was falling, making the already dark jungle even darker, so Sam returned to his campsite. The temperature was dropping too, which made him feel less clammy and damp (which he appreciated), though it wasn’t long before he was huddling close to his fusion furnace to warm his chilled hands. He retrieved a datapad to do some reading as a way to pass the time, which was all well and good until it started raining.

The rain came down fast and hard. The natural canopy above him didn’t keep much of the rain out, and Sam couldn’t find a tarp or anything to aid the branches in shielding him. He scrambled to get anything that might be damaged by the rain into the safety of his waterproof crates. Soon he was soaking wet and shivering. It was far colder than when he’d arrived on Dagobah and the rain was only making it worse.

His snuggled up tight to the biggest tree in his campsite and got as close as he could to his furnace without hugging it and burning himself. Even so, his teeth were still chattering as the minutes (hours? It really felt like hours) crawled by.

 _Hypothermia twice in two days,_ Sam thought wryly, shutting his eyes against the water sliding down his face. _Jo’s going to be pissed._

He wondered if he should be taking shelter in the X-Wing, but it hadn’t felt very stable when he’d gone for the last couple crates. It’d wobbled and creaked, sliding sideways several inches and dipping lower in the swamp water. Sam decided shivering under a tree was preferable to being trapped in a sinking ship.

Sam suddenly realized that rain had stopped trickling over his eyelids. He could still hear the rain pouring just as heavily all around him. He opened his eyes and cried out in surprise – Castiel was standing before him, holding a sort of homemade wood and cloth umbrella over Sam’s head.

“You came,” Castiel said by way of greeting, a soft smile lighting up his worn features.

“I d-didn’t hear you over the rain – you g-gave me a heart attack!” Sam’s jaw was trembling from the cold, making his teeth clatter.

Cas dipped his head slightly. “My apologies. I’ve been looking for you since I detected your ship entering Dagobah’s orbit, but I lost track of it when it entered the atmosphere.”

“Yeah, m-my scopes b-blacked out,” Sam pushed his wet hair off his forehead and fought off another wave of shivers. “I d-don’t suppose you live c-close?”

Cas smiled. “This way, Sam Harvelle.” He gestured for Sam to follow and took off through the jungle.

Sam cast a worried glance at his things. He’d put everything away earlier, and it wasn’t like anyone was likely to steal them. Cas paused, realizing Sam wasn’t right behind him, and waved his hand.

“Sam, you are frozen and soaked,” he called back. “And probably hungry. Those ships only have terrible protein ration packs, I know from experience. I promise I’ve got better food, dry clothes, and a roaring fire.” He offered Sam a warm smile and gestured again for him to follow.

“Th-th-at sounds k-kind of like heav-ven right about n-now,” Sam admitted, rubbing at his wet arms with numbs hands. He picked his away over the sprawling tree roots and hurried through the rain after Cas’ retreating figure.


	20. Chapter 20

Azazel narrowed his eyes at the hologram of Captain Metatron giving his report.

“That’s the last we saw them our scopes. M’lord,” he explained. “Considering the level of damage we doled out to them, and considering the level of damage our fleet is taking, such an inferior ship was surely crushed. M’lord.”

Azazel curled his lip. Always with the belated “m’lord”, as though it were a hasty afterthought. As if the guy’s voice wasn’t grating enough – it was just the right pitch of annoying to make the Sith lord want to choke him out simply to make it stop – then there was that borderline disrespect. He held back, grinding his teeth. Foul voice, dishonest smile, and beady eyes. Azazel was glad not to deal with this insect on a regular basis.

“They’re alive, Captain,” Azazel growled. “Until I have the wreckage of that damn ship and Winchester’s scorched bones in my possession, we keep looking. Whatever it takes.”

Captain Metatron grimaced. “We shouldn’t risk the fleet further. We’ve already lost a do–”

“Don’t remind me of the casualties,” the Sith cut in. “I command every ship to continue the sweep of the asteroid field. They’re theresomewhere, Captain, and we will find them.” He fixed the twit with a dangerous glare, daring him to argue further.

“Yes. Of course, sir,” said Metatron. “M’lord.” He gave a swift bow and the hologram faded as the transmission cut out.

Azazel let out an aggravated sigh. He didn’t care if they had to search every freaking asteroid inch by inch. They were going to find the _Impala_. Winchester was the key to crushing the rebels, Azazel knew. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side and the burnt flesh still healing beneath his glove pulled and stung.

“Sir?” General Roman cleared his throat.

“What is it?” the Sith growled.

“The Emperor, my lord,” General Roman explained, his voice trembling. “He requests an immediate audience.”

“Move the ship out of the field,” Azazel commanded. The screwy refraction of the signals in the asteroid field was already doing a number on their sensors and ship-to-ship transmissions, Azazel didn’t want to subject the Emperor to the static and sputtering of poorly connecting holograms.

“At once, my lord,” Roman nodded curtly and seemed immensely relieved to have delivered his message.

Azazel swept out of the command chamber, trusting General Roman to command the fleet in his stead. He hurried to his private chambers and initiated contact with his master. A massive hologram of the Emperor flickered to life before Azazel, who knelt as soon as it appeared.

His master wore dark robes, his hood up to obscure his features. He slid it back to reveal a once-handsome face marred by red scars on his cheeks and forehead, as though his skin had worn too thin in some spots and never quite healed. His cold blue eyes shone from darkened, sunken eye sockets.

“What is thy bidding, my master?” Azazel asked, keeping his head down but his eyes up.

“Azazel, what are you doing?” Emperor Lucifer asked blandly. He tilted his blond head, regarding his apprentice with a patronizing air.

“Master?”

“Because it seems to me, that you’re wasting a helluva lot of time and resources chasing down one itty bitty ship when you’re _supposed_ to be handing me the Rebel Alliance on a silver platter.” His tone was flat and flippant as usual, but Azazel could feel the anger bubbling beneath. “I mean, that is what you promised me, isn’t it, big boy?”

Azazel swallowed. He had. Twice, in fact. When he had Winchester in custody, he’d made contact and promised he was going to disintegrate the bastard, procure the Rebels’ location, and stamp them out. Then after that damn Winchester had escaped, he’d promised – on the way to Hoth – that they had the Rebels’ location and were about to destroy them.

“My master, I… circumstances have…” While Azazel fumbled for a suitable answer, Lucifer huffed.

“You know I hate broken promises, Lord Azazel. Why do I get the feeling your little Winchester vendetta is clouding your vision?”

Azazel bristled. “He has done nothing but undermine our cause, Master, just like his father, and I can’t allow him to keep breathing.”

“Yeah, weren’t you supposed to deal with that like twenty years ago? Now he’s the trashiest rebel of them all,” said Lucifer. “And I want the Rebels gone. The base, the core, the lifeblood – not just some outlier who you have a history with – all of them.”

Azazel tensed his jaw. Winchester was more than an annoyance – he was practically the Alliance’s leader. Certainly he was the face they rallied around. Turning him to dust would demoralize them, Azazel was sure.

“The damn Alliance has done nothing but piss me off, day in and day out, mucking things up, and frankly, I’m over it,” Lucifer continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want them dealt with. I want them _obliterated._ No more promises of destruction.”

The look he gave Azazel then was the kind that could melt skin off bones.

“You’ve had two strikes, ‘Zaze. Fix this. End them. Or else it’s lacy, gently wafting curtains for you. Don’t fail me a third time.” The Emperor reached forward and ended the transmission before Azazel had a chance to reply.

The Sith lord swallowed hard again, and touched shaking fingertips to his neck. For a second he could’ve sworn he’d felt an iron-like grip constrict his windpipe – just enough to drive home the Emperor’s anything-but-idle threat.

As Azazel stormed out of his chambers, he began to formulate a plan. The quicker that Winchester shit was found, the better. And since his own fleet wasn’t working fast enough, he’d arrange for hired help.

He would find that ship and lay waste to the Rebels, if it was the last thing he’d do.

 

~

 

“How goes the battle?” Bela asked, leaning against the doorframe of the main maintenance closet.

Dean grunted.

“That well?”

“She’s built to take some pretty hefty hits,” said Dean, gesturing with his power calibrator to the exposed machinery before him. “Just not this heavy, so close together, without repairs. Those Imperial bastards tore her up good. The power coupling on the negative axis is polarized, so we need a new one – ”

“Which we don’t have,” she informed him, twining a lock of her hair around her finger.

“And the secondary compression coil is fried all to hell.”

“Which we also don’t have.”

Dean frowned. “I know. That’s the problem. We can only put a bunch of band-aids everywhere and hope it holds until we can make it somewhere and do some serious, actual repairs.” He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face, fingers brushing the mechanic’s goggles perched on his head. “Where’s Ree?”

“Sleeping. She was a little fried after the whole… asteroid field thing.”

“Once again, anything was better than getting caught by the Imperials,” Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, for the fiftieth time,” he added bitterly.

She smirked at him, infuriatingly well aware that her refusal to thank him for saving their hide was driving him nuts.

“Oh Dean, be honest, you just wanted Azazel to chase you,” Bela teased. “I know how you two love to play cat and mouse.”

“Hah, hah,” said Dean flatly. “Look, the sooner – ”

The floor rumbled and shifted and Bela stumbled sideways. Dean caught her as the whole ship shook and tilted one way then the other. For a few breathless seconds, they waited for the movement to subside.

The noise ceased and the ship leveled out.

“What the hell was that?” Dean murmured, glancing around the engine room like he might see a clue to the cause of the quake. Her shirt had ridden up slightly and his fingertips were pressed against the skin of her stomach.

“I… don’t think this cave you picked is terribly stable, darling,” Bela replied quietly. “There was some shifting earlier, but it was minor – I thought it was just the ship settling.”

He suddenly was conscious of the fact that his arms were still wrapped around her, that he was touching her, and he hastily let go, practically shoving her to her feet. She glowered at him and adjusted her shirt while he returned his attention to the valves by his head.

“Hand me the torch,” he muttered, gesturing to the pile of tools that had rolled across the floor when the ship pitched.

He cleared his throat and ignored the look she was still giving him when she handed him the welding torch, smacking it into his palm. He steadfastly denied the fact that his fingers were still tingling.

“If the asteroid is unstable, then all the more reason to get out of here,” Dean continued. He popped the protective goggles from his forehead onto his eyes and used the torch to weld the damaged valves. “The sooner we get Baby in decent shape again, the sooner we can get out of here. Ash found a hole in the plans, and I need to get back to Jo.”

“She can handle things while you’re gone,” said Bela, shielding her eyes, her head turned away while Dean welded.

“I know, it’s just…” He switched off the torch, removed the goggles, and handed them both to Bela. “I need to get back.”

He chewed his lip and regarded his handiwork. Now theoretically, all he had to do was turn the lever to reengage the system, and they’d be in a lot better shape. If it did fully reengage and there weren’t a bunch of other problems standing in his way, of course. He wiped his hands on the grease-stained rag hanging out of his pocket and tried the lever. Damn thing wouldn’t budge, so he heaved harder.

“Would you like some help?” asked Bela, her voice colored with amusement as she watched him struggle.

“No, I got it,” Dean grunted and gave another hearty shove against the lever. His hand slipped and he banged his fist sharply into the metal housing compartment behind the lever. “Son of a bitch!” He shook his smarting hand.

“You sure?” Bela giggled.

Dean scowled at her. He got a bottle of lubricant from the toolbox and applied some to the lever’s connecting point. Bela stood back and watched.

“You could maybe go do something useful, you know,” he grumbled at her. “Instead of standing there, being judgey and irritating.”

“No, I’m good right here.” She smiled maddeningly.

He shot her another dirty look before giving the lever another go. He pushed and twisted, and felt it shift a tiny bit. He was moaning with effort when Bela appeared on his left and slipped her hands over the end of the metal lever to help him shove. She screwed up her face and huffed air through her teeth, and finally the damn thing gave. They both stumbled at the sudden lack of resistance, and received bruised knuckles and pinched skin for their trouble.

Dean pressed his throbbing hand to his mouth and Bela laughed at him.

“Stupid, damn thing!” he groused, and she cupped her hand around his and began gently massaging his fingers.

“Oh, poor Dean and his battered Baby,” she teased, and he very maturely stuck his tongue out at her.

“This is your fault, you know,” he mumbled. “Dragging her into this mess. At least you’re finally admitting it’s my ship.”

She shook her head at him, though her smile stayed in place.

He watched her fingers make slow circles on his skin and felt his heartrate climb. Dean flicked his eyes to her and then back to the inexplicably tender way she was rubbing his fingers. He wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed before he realized she’d been rubbing his hand for much longer than necessary and his breath caught in his chest.

“Better?” She looked up him a moment later, eyes wide and far too pretty.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean tugged his hand out of her grasp. He gave his head a shake to clear it from the fog Bela was clearly trying to put him in.

He turned to check the readouts, hoping several hours worth of work hadn’t been wasted. The displays showed that the system was holding for now, but it wasn’t great. The schematics lit up like a Mekzatorian festival, with blinking red critical areas everywhere and just as many attention-needing orange and yellow spots. Though he, Ree, and Bela had made some progress, the ship was still in pretty bad shape.

“Damn it!” He thrust his hand through his hair.

“You must stop doing that,” Bela scolded and bent down to retrieve a non-greasy rag from the toolbox near his feet.

“What?”

She smiled at him. “Putting grease in your hair.” Bela reached up and gently wiped at the grease clumping in his hair.

“Did you see the readouts? We’re screwed!” Dean gestured and exhaled with frustration.

“Don’t be so cynical,” she chided and scrubbed at the grease smear on his cheek. “You’ll patch this bucket of bolts together enough that we can limp to a suitable port – you always do.”

He frowned, not appreciating the insult she’d thrown at Baby, and not wanting to agree with her, though she _was_ right.

She moved the rag to his other cheek, her movements slow and soft, and her gaze drifted towards his mouth. He could feel his heartrate climbing again and didn’t like where this was headed. Experience told him he was veering into dangerous territory, so he tried to steer them to colder, more familiar ground. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her arm away.

“Okay, you got it, thanks. Now, stop playing nice,” he said sharply, hoping to shrug her off. “I know how this game goes.”

For a moment, he thought he’d offended her as intended, but then she blinked at him innocently. Her mouth was tilted up in another familiar teasing smile when she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.”

“Like hell,” he huffed. “This is exactly how I ended up with no money, no speeder, and no pants the first time. Go be useful somewhere – I mean it.”

Bela bit her lip, ignoring his shooing motion. “And the third.”

“ _That_ one was on purpose,” said Dean, waving his finger at her. “It was all part of my plan. Now, _go._ ” He pointed towards the door.

“Liar.”

“Thief,” he shot back, dropping his arm.

“Mm, I only lied about being a thief.” She twirled the rag in her hands. She was enjoying this way too much. As usual.

“Which time?”

Bela rolled her eyes. “Always with the tone.”

“I don’t have a tone,” he scoffed.

“You _do_.”

“If I have a tone, I have a damn good reason for it – after all these years of dealing with a bitch like you.”

Bela tossed the rag aside and moved closer to him, her green eyes locked on his. “Oh darling, please. Be honest: you like me because I’m a bitch.”

“Like hell,” he repeated. Except his voice came out all low and not even slightly convincing. “Go,” he tried instead and it wasn’t any better.

“Make me,” she retorted, so very eloquently.

Dean fought to keep his emotions in check. He could feel himself standing at the precipice and he knew that he had to walk away right now (since she clearly wasn’t going to), lest things spiral out of control. He wasn’t going to do this with her again, he wasn’t going to cross that line. They’d had an agreement, they’d stopped with their on-again/off-again mess once and for all. He hadn’t left her behind on Clia just to fall into their old habits.

Part of him wondered if they already had and it was too late to pull back.

“We have had some good times, you and I, haven’t we?” said Bela. She was pressed almost completely against him, her features startlingly open. That vulnerable expression was more dangerous than any other look she had ever thrown his way – like she would crumble to dust should he turn away.

Her hand settled on his chest as it rose and fell, the other curled around his neck. He knew he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and he was slipping towards the edge. She was tilting her lips up to meet his, and he was supposed to stop and back away…

“Bela,” he breathed, and God, she smelled exactly how he remembered – all spice and sin and a mistake he simply _had_ to make. Damn, she made him feel powerless. She was never more beautiful to him than when she finally dropped her guard and let him in, let him seeher like this.

He realized she hadn’t come in here to see how repairs were going.

Dean closed the distance between them, meeting her lips with his, unable to hold himself back any longer. She kissed him back hungrily and her nails dug into his chest, trailed up onto his neck. He wrapped his arms around her back, pressing her tight to him, his heart beating a fierce rhythm against his ribs. He slid his hands up into her hair, down her shoulders, grabbed her hips. She kissed him harder and her fingers snatched at edge of his shirt.

He was in free fall.

They separated so Bela could tug his shirt over his head. He helped her shuck her vest, quickly followed by her shirt. Dean tangled his hand in her hair and brought her back to him like he couldn’t bear the lack of contact.

He planted kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Bela moaned softly and tilted her head back as he moved along her collarbone. His lips brushed over a soft ridge of scarred skin by her shoulder and he hesitated, hot guilt making his stomach clench.

“Don’t,” Bela breathed.

Dean leaned back to meet her eyes, and a thousand apologies jammed in his throat and weighed down his tongue.

“Don’t,” she repeated, and captured his mouth with hers as if to stem to flow of rehashed guilt she knew was coming. She kissed him intensely, pushing her tongue past his teeth. He responded with fervor, but jumped back with a hiss when she poked her thumbnail sharply into his ribs.

“Ow – what the hell!” he snapped, glancing down where she’d jabbed him.

She ghosted her fingers over the long, thin scar on Dean’s ribs leftover from a vibroblade several years ago. He’d gotten bacta on it too late for the scar to completely heal, same as the old scar on Bela’s shoulder. A wave of goosebumps erupted over his skin at her touch.

“We’re even,” she whispered, breathing heavily. Her eyes were blazing with lust and memories, and Dean imagined he was probably wearing a very similar expression.

He took a moment to drink her in: tousled hair, flushed cheeks, bright lips. She waited, her gaze focused on his mouth as she tried to catch her breath. He was suddenly terrified he wouldn’t see her like this again, that he would lose this last chance, so he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her in close.

Dean and Bela crashed together. He scrabbled at the clasp on her plain grey bra and she fumbled for the zipper of his pants. They cleared the workbench off next with a couple hasty swipes that sent tools clattering to floor.

He was on fire and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t touch every part of her fast enough, couldn’t stand how much he needed her in that moment. He’d forgotten how incredible it felt to hear her say his name, to moan and sigh into his neck, to feel her skin against his – how much he’d missed it. He didn’t mind that she was leaving nail scratches on him because he was leaving fingerprints on her.

Dean kissed her long and tenderly when they were finished. His smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,” she said quietly, as if she were afraid to break the spell between them but unable to keep the words from coming out anyways. “I don’t care… I can’t care the way you want me to.”

Dean sighed through his nose. “I know.”

Bela slid off the workbench and picked her clothes up from the floor.


	21. Chapter 21

Sam woke up to find that the rain had stopped sometime during the night and that he was alone in Castiel’s home. It was a small, cozy hut hollowed from the base of a massive tree. The interior had roughly textured beige walls, and the sparse décor and furniture all looked handmade. The handful of rooms had rounded ceilings, Sam had to duck his head slightly through the doorways, but the space was comfortable, clean, and welcoming.

Sam helped himself to a bowlful of the still warm soup they’d eaten the previous night from a pot hanging over the smouldering embers in the fireplace. The soup was dark green and tasted a little too much like plant-life for Sam’s liking, but it was filling and it wasn’t too bad – was better than the protein survival bars from the X-Wing. After he’d gotten into some dry clothes and settled by the fire, he’d been hungry enough to down two heaping bowls of it.

Sam and Cas had talked as they ate. Sam told him all that had transpired on Hoth, with the wampa attack and the Imperial invasion, even hesitantly adding in the vision of Mary he’d seen in the snow. Cas had listened attentively, and when Sam finished, the other man told Sam a little bit of his story.

Castiel had trained at the Jedi Academy with Mary Campbell, and while they were never very close, they did develop a bond of friendship.

“She always had such a strong presence,” Cas had smiled. “She was warm and kind, and so talented with the Force. Many admired her.”

He went on to say that while he was away as a diplomatic envoy during a civil war on his homeworld, Mary departed the Order to be married – something not unheard of, but certainly not common. Cas had returned from his mission well after she’d left, and heard from others in the Temple that she was happy and with child.

“I always meant to seek her out,” said Cas sadly. “As I say, we were never close, but I always thought I ought to meet the family she departed the Order for. I truly missed her company many times.”

Then came the part that Sam knew from history lessons and the books he’d read over the years: the Clone Wars and the infamous Order 66. Cas and the other Jedi were scattered across the galaxy during the War on thousands of missions – medical, defense, diplomacy, aid.

“I ended up on Dellalt with nine others to diffuse a situation with the Separatists when the Order was given,” he continued somberly. “I barely made it out of that mission. The Emperor rose to prominence and Azazel began the Purge.”

Sam nodded. The Purge was when the remaining Jedi in the galaxy were systematically hunted and wiped out. Some of the surviving Jedi tried to continue fighting the Empire and were killed for it. Others went into hiding or denounced being a Jedi, all in efforts to survive. Some even turned and worked for the Empire in their desperate attempts to stay alive. The Emperor finally called off the hunt when there were so few Jedi left in the galaxy that they were deemed inconsequential.

With the firelight flickering over his sorrowful features, Castiel had looked even older than Sam could guess.

“I hid,” Cas had finally whispered. “I hid, and I… lost my way.” His eyes shimmered with tears for a moment before he blinked them away. “I found purpose again when I met Dean Winchester and joined the Rebel Alliance. It wasn’t until I met you, Sam, that I remembered who I truly was – who I _am_.”

He paused and took a few breaths before continuing. Sam toyed with his spoon and waited.

“You have so much of Mary in you,” said Cas, looking at Sam fondly. “I can feel so much… raw potential, so much _power_ , right here.” He leaned forward and gently tapped Sam’s chest with his finger. “You’re the one, the Last Jedi, I can feel it – I’ve never been so certain of anything.”

He regarded Sam with such naked hope, such deep gratitude… like the secrets of the universe were sitting open on Sam’s face. It made Sam squirm.

“I’m no one,” he’d blurted in a hasty mumble, his skin chafing under Cas’s fierce admiration and attention. He shoved his hand through his shaggy hair, dodging the former Jedi’s gaze.

“Oh Sam, you are so much more,” Cas smiled. “Tomorrow, I will show you.”

So here Sam was, at tomorrow, exiting Cas’s moss-covered hut and wondering for the hundredth time how the hell he’d gotten himself into this. He still wasn’t at all convinced about this “Last Jedi” stuff, but he was, for now, willing to give it a try.

The sky was still opaque with mist though it hovered high above him, dusting the treetops rather than hugging the ground as it had the previous day. Sam breathed in the thick, humid air and glanced around at the dense jungle. It seemed a lot less foreboding when the fog wasn’t so prominent.

He followed a worn dirt path towards a large clearing; there he found Cas. The former Jedi had his bare feet perched on a set of rocks roughly a stride apart, and his arms outstretched, one forward and one behind. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Sam could see black markings across his back. As Sam neared, he realized the markings were a beautifully inked set of wings.

“Good morning, Sam,” Cas greeted without opening his eyes or turning his head.

“Morning,” replied Sam. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…” He gestured vaguely at Cas, not sure what to call whatever it was Cas was doing.

“No trouble at all.” Cas opened his eyes and stepped off the rocks, flexing his feet and rolling his shoulders. “I was just finishing.” He offered Sam a bright smile and bent down to retrieve his grey shirt from the ground.

“Where’d you get the wings?” Sam asked as Cas donned his shirt. He didn’t realize he’d said something wrong until Cas faced him with hard frown.

“That’s a rather personal question, Sam.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – ” Sam sputtered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t think asking about a tattoo would be upsetting.

Castiel’s expression cleared and he waved his hand at Sam. “It’s all right, you didn’t know. Where I come from, it’s disrespectful to talk about someone’s tattoo until you know the person well. I forget not everyone knows that.” He smiled then, which helped make Sam feel like less of an idiot. “Now, Sam Harvelle, shall we get started?”

Sam cleared his throat and nodded. “I’m not saying I buy into any of this… ‘Last Jedi’ stuff… but if I did, what do I do now? Where do I start?”

Cas had Sam take off his shoes and thin jacket, and perch on set of rocks just as Cas had been doing, and replicate the same stance. Castiel called it the warrior pose and had Sam do a number of slow breathing exercises while he balanced on the rocks. They were cold and slippery under Sam’s feet and he slid off more than a few times, but each time he stepped back onto them and tried again.

The purpose of the pose and the breathing, Cas explained, was akin to meditation. It was to clear the mind, calm it, relax it. Focus on breathing and quiet. It was far easier to get in touch with the Force when the mind was at ease.

“What are the rocks for then?” asked Sam, his feet wobbling and toes clinging to the hard stone. Standing on them was unpleasant at best, and he imagined the longer he tried, the more painful it was going to become.

“For balance,” replied the former Jedi. “For engaging your body, for the challenge of feeling pain and having to still empty your mind. It’s not supposed to be easy or comfortable.”

His voice took on a note of warning as he continued, “Nothing about your training will be. Are you prepared for that, Sam?”

Sam grimaced a little, his eyes shut, as he fought to stay on the rocks. He thought of seeing Mary in the snow and he thought about Jo telling him to go on an adventure. He thought about Dean’s face when he believed Castiel was dead and how badly the Rebels needed all the help they could get in the fight against the Empire. He thought about Ellen and the smoking homestead.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

As Sam soon found out, Castiel hadn’t been putting it lightly when he said it was going to be hard. Cas had him balance on the rocks for quite some time, then changed it up with different poses, designed to make it even more difficult for Sam to focus.

Castiel took him off the rocks and then had Sam try to move them using the Force. Sam told him about his experience with the remote back on the _Impala_ , how he’d tried to reach out for the Force and thought he might have done it, and Castiel looked immensely pleased.

After a couple hours of focusing, breathing, stretching, and ‘reaching out’, Sam felt a jolt of excitement go through him when he finally, properly _felt_ the Force. It was difficult to describe. One minute Sam was still and breathing and soaking in the gentle, muffled noises of Dagobah around him, visualizing moving the rocks, and the next, he was buzzing with energy and light and he was actually moving the rocks.

He gave a startled laugh. Perhaps it was because of Castiel’s presence or the hours of breathing and focusing, but Sam found he could recapture the feeling with greater ease the more he did it. Castiel’s grin grew even wider when Sam managed to not only shift the rocks, but lift them a couple feet in the air.

They took a break from rock-throwing to move on to physical training. Cas had him running all over the place: over dirt trails, through shallow water, up and down rocky mounds, traversing logs propped over sluggish streams. He had Sam climbing trees and hauling himself up and down thick vines, scrambling between massive branches high above the ground. It made Sam’s palms sweat to be that high without the protection of a vehicle of some sort, but he did it anyways.

He kept picturing Ellen dying because of the Imperials, and Mary’s legacy cut short, and he knew he had to push. He had to try. He was no Jedi, he was sure, and never would be. But he had to try, for them.

Cas, for his part, kept up with Sam with infuriatingly little effort. For every tangle of vines that Sam scaled, Cas did it too with a lot less panting. He ran alongside Sam through the jungle and the mud, through clearings and thick underbrush, over rock-pitted hills and down the other side. While he was indeed sweating, he wasn’t drenched like Sam nor nearly as out of breath when they stopped.

They circled back to the hut to break for lunch (this time some sort of tart and delicious blue fruit, accompanied by a thick, pasty looking stew that smelled like pepper but tasted creamy and was pretty good) before they got back to it.

Sam wasn’t entirely sure what all this running and climbing had to do with anything, but knew Castiel had his reasons. Perhaps it had to do with exhausting the body so the mind could empty easier, or maybe it was simply making sure Sam was in better shape. Regardless, Sam ran on.

They returned to the hut when darkness began to fall. Sam was exhausted to the bone and aching all over. He barely stayed awake while Castiel prepared them some supper – a small creature roasted on the fire – and gobbled it down. The day had taken a lot out of him and he gratefully slumped to bed after he helped Cas clean up. He offered to take the couch and give Castiel his bed back, but the former Jedi remarked that he didn’t sleep much, so Sam was better off taking the bed.

Sam was far too tired to argue and simply nodded. He didn’t remember his face hitting the pillow.

 

~

 

With the constant darkness in the cave outside the _Impala_ , there was no sense of day or night. Dean, Bela, and Ree didn’t keep much of an eye on the time either. They were focused on making the ship as functional as possible. The longer they remained undiscovered by Azazel and the Imperials, the better.

There were some occasional tremors and rumblings that made the ship shift and Dean feel edgy, but the movement would subside and not reoccur for several hours. Bela assured him she didn’t like staying here any more than he did, but it was better than flying the damaged ship into the asteroid field again.

 _Maybe they’ve given up_ , Ree suggested hopefully. She was on her back, head buried underneath the main piloting console. _Maybe they think we blew ourselves up on that suicide run and they’ve moved on._

Dean adjusted the light he was holding for her. He scoffed. “I’m not that lucky. And I know Azazel. I guarantee he’ll comb every freakin’ asteroid for a sign of us before he even considers that we got away.”

It wasn’t unlike when the Sith had taken the fight to Alderaan and murdered Dean’s parents, years ago. Knowing they died as a result of Azazel’s grudge against Dean still stung. He shoved the emotion of it away before it could take hold, clearing his throat and adjusting the light for Ree again.

“You boys and your obsessions,” Bela mused from the corner where she was calibrating and adjusting a number of displays. She shot him a teasing look and Dean rolled his eyes.

The hours wore on. They stopped their repairs for meals when they got hungry and took breaks to play Dejarik, sabacc, and space poker so they could relax and put their minds on something else for a little while. They slept when they were tired, and once awake and fed, they resumed repairs. In a lot of cases, there was only so much they could do without new parts, but Dean was experienced with jerry-rigging things together, and Bela and Ree followed his lead.

Once they repaired the comm console, Dean prepared a message to send to Jo about his status – stranded and ready to limp to the nearest planet with a repair shop – though the density of the asteroid prevented him from getting a signal out. He wondered how she and the other Rebels were faring. He’d been so busy escaping Hoth with Bela that he didn’t even know who’d been killed during the invasion.

He wondered if Benny, Adam, Ash, or any of his other friends were dead. His stomach twisted into tight knots at the thought and he scrubbed his hands over his face. He suddenly felt exhausted to his bones. He needed to get back.

More importantly, he needed to make sure he _could_ get back. The _Impala_ had to be in good enough shape to outrun the Imperials if they were still out there. And knowing Azazel, as Dean unfortunately did, the son of bitch was nothing if not stubborn.

This spurred Dean to his feet, and he headed down the corridor to the secondary engine room to get back to work.

 

~

 

The second day of training was no less grueling, Sam discovered.

Castiel woke him at dawn, fed him some breakfast, and dragged him to the clearing to balance on rocks. Sam’s muscles protested. He was no stranger to physical labor, but the incredible amount of running and climbing the previous day had left him aching all over. Cas promised him it would all get better in time, though as Sam stretched his sore arms and legs, he wasn’t sure he believed him.

After the morning breathing exercises and rock-shifting, training went much the same as it had the first day. Castiel put Sam through the paces. He offered all kinds of advice along the way – _hold your shoulders like this, slow your pace like that, lean into the Force, stretch your feelings_ – and Sam began to understand that much of what Castiel was trying to teach him wasn’t simply physical strength or endurance. It was about learning control, in every possible way, and figuring out how to let the Force flow through him while he did it.

In the evening, Castiel and Sam spent time talking. Cas told him about Jedi training at the Temple before the Clone Wars and the fall of the Jedi, about the other Padawans, Knights, and Masters he knew over the years. He talked about some of the more colorful missions he’d been sent on and how he’d met Dean.

“It was while I was on the run,” said Cas, leaning back into the cushioned wood chair. “I was on Cularin, hiding among the Tarasin. They’re a force-sensitive people and had been known to shelter former Jedi, so I built a safe house there. Eventually the Empire came – Cularin was a valuable mining operation.

“I was discovered by a group of Imperial raiders, taking it into their own hands to search every nook and cranny for remaining Jedi, and I barely managed to make it out,” Cas continued grimly. “I fled – they burned the place down behind me – and I ran into Dean. Literally.”

Cas chuckled a little then and Sam smiled, picturing Castiel crashing headlong into Dean.

“He had his gun out, I begged him to hide me, and somehow he believed me. He put me on his ship.”

“How’d you know he wasn’t an Imperial?” asked Sam. “Or… something else equally not good?”

“I… didn’t, exactly.” Cas tilted his head thoughtfully. “It had been years since I touched the Force, but when I saw Dean, it’s as though I felt some sort of… Something was familiar and… I can’t quite explain it to you, Sam. I trusted him. Even with his gun in my face.”

Sam nodded. He’d had the same strange feeling about Dean not long after meeting him too. He felt like he knew Dean, felt connected to him and trusted him, and couldn’t figure out why. He supposed that sometimes it simply happened like that – you found a connection with someone instantly, for whatever reason.

“It took some time for him to trust me, of course, given his history with the Imperials,” Cas continued. “Though eventually we became good friends and he brought me into the fold with the Rebels. Like I told you, I found purpose again when I was with them – I had something to fight for, and needed to make up for my cowardice.”

Cas paused. When he spoke again, his voice was brimming with pain and regret. “What kind of Jedi was I that I cowered and hid rather than defend my friends and the legacy of the Jedi? I did nothing to save the lives of the innocent.”

“The Jedi were being hunted and destroyed,” Sam put in earnestly. “I don’t think anyone can blame you for hiding.”

Cas shook his head sadly, unconvinced. His gaze drifted to the crackling fire.

Sam sat back on the couch, understanding flooding his chest. This was why his training was so important to Cas, more than carrying on where Mary could not. The former Jedi was trying to wash the blood of the past off his hands to make up for not defending his peers, his ideals, and more during the Purge. He wanted the legacy of all Jedi to live on, even if only for a moment, in Sam.

Sam didn’t blame him for a second for not standing up during the Purge – had Cas tried, he would’ve been cut down the same as the rest and been reduced to a name on a memorial.

After several long moments, Sam cleared his throat softly. “Did you ever look for… did you ever find anyone else?”

Cas shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I tried. Part of my missions in the Alliance was to seek out other former Jedi – whether they had denounced the old ways or were in hiding like me. I only found a couple in all the years I’ve been working with Dean and the Rebels, and they were not… they were not receptive.” He grimaced. “The rest were dead or too well hidden.”

Sam swallowed. It was one thing to read that all but a few Jedi had been wiped out; it was another to hear it from someone who lived it.

“Cas,” Sam began hesitantly, not sure if he was crossing a line like he accidentally had with his question about the tattoo earlier. “How old are you?”

Cas smirked a little. “Older than I look.”

He stood with a sigh and began cleaning up the remnants of their supper, and Sam sensed the conversation was over for the night. He bid the former Jedi goodnight and headed for the bedroom.

“Sam,” Cas said, then faltered when Sam turned to face him. After a long pause, he finished, “Good night.”

Sam wondered what Cas had wanted to say, but figured it would come out in time. He put it out of his mind as he fell asleep. Though he slept long and deep, he still felt tired when Cas gently shook him awake the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #8
> 
> Kevin Tran: He and his mother were living a quiet life on a Mid Rim planet when it was attacked and taken over by the Imperials. Though the Trans hoped to keep their heads down, a random raid by a group of extreme Imperials soon turned deadly. They suspected the Trans of being Rebels, and tossed their house, destroying most of their belongings. When Kevin and his girlfriend tried to fight back, she was killed and he was beaten down, only just barely saved by his mother promising undying loyalty to the Empire if they let him live. Grief-stricken over the loss of his girlfriend, Kevin vowed to join the Alliance, against Mrs. Tran’s wishes. While she had no love for the Empire, she didn’t believe the Alliance was truly any better. Kevin left, though he stayed in touch through encrypted channels as best he could. He was killed at the Battle of Hoth when his transport didn’t escape the Imperial blockade; Mrs. Tran was devastated and later took great personal joy in the day the Empire fell.


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel was as gently relentless as usual. He praised Sam for being a fast learner when Sam not only was moving the rocks around, but stacking them neatly and holding them in place until he had constructed a tiny tower.

Cas had him move on to shifting and stacking the crates from the X-Wing next. Sam found the crates much more difficult to move because they were larger than the rocks. The other man promised him that it was not the size of the object in question, but instead a matter of harnessing the Force to do the heavy lifting – literally.

“You could move your ship out of the swamp,” Cas suggested, gesturing to the X-Wing buried in the murky water. It had sank lower and lower over the past few days so that the only visible part of it was the tip of one of the arms.

Sam barked out a surprised laugh. “I can barely manage the crates – how the hell do you expect me to move an entire _ship_?”

“By using what you’ve learned,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “You must stretch out with your feelings.”

Sam huffed and looked out at the ship poking out of the swamp. “I really don’t see how some breathing and focusing is going to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Cas clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Go on.”

Sam exhaled in a rush. “I’ll try.” He shrugged and walked to the water’s edge.

“Sam, you have to think in terms of do,” said the former Jedi. “Think _do_ or _do not_. There is no try. You can do this.”

Sam pressed his lips together, unconvinced. He shut his eyes and started breathing slow and deep like he’d been doing while moving the rocks. He visualized the ship and he pictured it rising out of the water. He lifted his arm out in front of him and took another few deep breaths, imagining tendrils of light – the Force – wrapping around the X-Wing’s hull and wings and sliding it out of the muck…

He heard Cas’ breath catch behind him and then Sam could hear the sound of swishing water. _Am I doing it?_ he wondered, but then he started to lose the feeling of focus. He struggled to keep hold of the light and the threads binding the ship, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. They were sliding, breaking, disappearing…

 _Stay calm_ , he thought. _Focus!_

But it was no good – it was slipping away. He opened his eyes to see the ship, barely higher than it’d been before, sinking back down into the water. Sam felt sapped and shaky as he faced Cas.

“It’s too big.” Sam shook his head, pushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead and catching his breath.

Cas was visibly disappointed, but he smiled, giving Sam another clap on the shoulder. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he promised.

They took a break for food and water, and after that, it was back to slogging and hiking through the jungle.

 

~

 

The conversation that evening turned to Sam’s childhood. He talked about Ellen, about Jo and the trouble they got into as kids. He talked about his voracious appetite for books, how Bobby used to come by and give him new ones, and take him and Jo to the marketplace. He talked about Rufus with his conspiracy stories and smiley Garth who ran a moisture farm a few kilometers over. He spoke about trips to the junkyard, about close encounters with sand people, and life on Tatooine. The more he told Cas about his old life, the more Sam realized he missed it.

He recounted the day Ellen died – everything Bobby had told him about his birth parents, about finding the rebel plans, and discovering the destroyed homestead. Cas waited in sympathetic silence while Sam wiped his eyes and battled his emotions.

And around the time where Sam mentioned how good it had been to see Jo again, his only remaining family, Cas apparently decided it was time to upend Sam’s world once again.

He leaned forward and seemed so careful and unsure. “Sam, she… Jo Harvelle is not your only family.”

Sam scrunched his eyebrows and felt his stomach tangle up in knots. “What are you talking about?”

Firelight flickered across Cas’ features. “I wanted to wait until the right time to tell you, and I am truly – I do not know where to start.”

“Just say it, Cas,” Sam’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Dean Winchester is your brother, Sam,” Cas finally said. “Your blood brother.”

Sam stared. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. He blinked, laughed, stopped short and shook his head. “I – he’s – what?”

For starters, it made no sense. Secondly, Ellen would’ve told him that he had a brother out there somewhere.

 _But she didn’t tell you about Bobby knowing your father,_ said an unwelcome voice in the back of his head.

And Bobby! He spent days on a ship with Sam and Dean, and at the base on Hoth – he definitely would have said something.

 _He didn’t know_ , Sam decided. _He couldn’t have – he would’ve told me for sure._

Except then Sam remembered the way Bobby had been on Hoth, on the day of the invasion. How he’d clearly been trying to tell Sam something huge, had promised it could wait. _Was that it? Was he about to tell me I was freaking related to Dean Winchester, leader of the Rebel Alliance?_

Cas waited several long minutes while Sam absorbed this new information. Sam looked up and demanded, “How? How is this... possible?”

Castiel sighed. “It took me some time to piece it all together, but I spoke to Bobby on Hoth. Once I knew Mary was your mother, I finally understood it all.”

Sam felt a trickle of ice sliding down his spine. _Bobby did know. He knew and he never said a word. And I left before he could tell me_.

“When your mother, Mary, left the Order to be married, it was to a pilot named John Winchester,” Cas explained. “She soon became pregnant and had her first child: Dean. After a massive attack on Threstosii, she and John fled with the baby to a safer place. But it was the middle of the Clone War, and there was no safe place. John kept flying and he made a name for himself – he was the best, and the Separatists hated him.”

Sam listened, twining his fingers together in his lap. He was only now realizing that both Ellen and Bobby had always conveniently never told Sam what his birth parents’ last name was. It hadn’t ever seemed relevant, he supposed, and he’d never asked.

“Dean was only a couple years old when you were born,” Cas continued. “Darth Azazel had risen to power, and the Empire was rising to full force under him and Emperor Lucifer. They were determined to wipe out Winchester and his family, and as you know, Azazel tracked down Mary and John and killed them.”

Cas leaned forward in his chair, fixing his intense gaze on Sam. “But you survived – you and Dean were saved in time. With the Empire so intent on destroying the Winchesters and the Jedi, the decision was made to separate and hide you. They spent years trying to hunt down the child of Winchester – the Empire only ever knew about Dean. Sam, they never knew about you.”

Sam raked his hand though his hair. His mind was reeling. He remembered the talk he’d had with Dean aboard the _Impala_ about Dean’s childhood. Sam couldn’t tell if he was blind or stupid that he hadn’t put this all together sooner himself. Both adopted, with birth parents who were important and murdered during the Clone Wars…

“When Dean Winchester began making trouble for the Imperials, Azazel believed he’d found his man, the surviving son of John and Mary. It’s why he’s so determined to make Dean pay – it’s because of John. Dean is a task left unfinished. The child he didn’t get the chance to kill, all grown up and actively working to destroy the Empire.”

“And he’s… he’s my brother,” Sam murmured, trying the words out. He was startled by how right they felt. This explained the bond he felt with Dean – the connection and trust he hadn’t been able to articulate before. _We’re related._

Cas sat back in his chair. “I believe that’s why I trusted him from the start. I felt echoes of Mary in him too, before I understood what it really was – though not a fraction as strongly as I felt it when you walked into my cell that day.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t… I didn’t tell you sooner,” Cas finished hesitantly.

Sam stood up to pace but sat back down, unsure what to do with himself. He didn’t know quite how to react, how he felt. He was shocked, yet somehow not at all, like he’d known all along. He was upset, he was calm. He was wound too tight, he needed air, he couldn’t move.

He wanted to be angry at someone for keeping something this huge from him – Bobby? Ellen? Cas? – but it was obvious they’d done it to protect Dean and him from the Empire, and it had clearly worked. Azazel and the Imperials believed there was only one threat, only one Winchester out there trying to take them down.

Sam clenched his fist at his side. _Well, aren’t they in for a fucking surprise_.

Fire flared in his chest and for the first time in his life, Sam felt like he knew where he belonged in the galaxy. He wouldn’t just be the son of Mary Campbell, former Jedi. He wasn’t just a junker from Tatooine, caught up in something he barely understood. He’d be the son of Mary and John Winchester, the brother of Dean Winchester.

Now all he had to do was train like hell and join said brother in burning down the Galactic Empire once and for all.

 

~

 

Azazel stalked along the line-up of bounty hunters. There were a dozen of them – a solid turn out, he thought. These were the ones close to the fleet’s position or were fast enough to respond to the contract he’d put out, with a tight twenty-four hour response deadline.

There was a wide array of scum before him – some were familiar to him from past jobs he’d overseen, others were not. There was a battered war droid, a reptilian bipedal, a number of humans of varying age and attire, something with a metal respirator for a face, something with gills and tentacles… The smell coming from that one was particularly pungent, so Azazel grimaced and kept his distance.

General Roman was eyeing the lot with disgust. Not only was Azazel aware that Roman thought bounty hunters were a special breed of garbage, but the general was clearly rather put out that Azazel was assigning the discovery of the _Impala_ to the likes of them rather than to his trusted, newly minted general.

His trusted, newly minted general who was currently failing at the task at hand. Given Azazel’s heightened temper as of late, he thought Roman would do well to find the _Impala_ first and get back into his good graces instead of glowering at the about-to-be-hired hands.

Azazel clasped his hands behind his back as he paced before the bounty hunters. “I’ll make this short and sweet: I need the _Impala_ and I need its crew. The one who brings them in will receive a substantial reward from the Empire, as well as the Emperor’s eternal thanks. And mine, which is rather priceless if I do say so myself.”

A black, humanoid man with a set of nasty, sharp-looking teeth piped up, “How substantial?”

“Pretty damn,” Azazel replied, turning his wicked yellow-eyed gaze to the man.

He shrugged one shoulder as if he were bored. “Just trying to see if this is worth my time.”

Azazel’s lip curled slightly. “Look…” He snapped his finger and Roman darted forward with a list of the gathered mercs. He pointed, and Azazel read the name, “ _Walker_ , have you had a contract with the Empire before?”

Walker shrugged again.

“Trust me, it’s more money than you’ll make in your entire pathetic, little life,” Azazel sneered at him and moved on down the line. Now, if he could avoid any more stupid questions…

“I want them alive,” the Sith lord commanded in a loud, dangerous voice. “I’ll say it again so you don’t mishear me: alive and unharmed. ‘Course, if they get a little banged up in the process, I’m not going to be too fussed about it. But I have business with them and I need a clean slate.” The smile he shot them was enough to make that Walker guy gulp.

“This means,” Azazel continued, raising his finger and pointing at the hunters he was familiar with in succession.

“No poison,” to a woman dressed in purple with a veil over half her face, blonde hair poking out from under her helmet. There was a small set of dark red initials reading _M.M._ on her breastplate. By the squint of her eyes and tilt of her head, he could tell she was smirking behind her veil.

“No copious torture,” to a weedy man with graying hair who was picking his fingernails with a long knife.

“But a little’s okay?” he asked in a drawling, nasal voice.

“Clean slate, Alastair,” Azazel told him. “Though I may require your services later.”

Alastair’s cold gray eyes glinted with malice and excitement. This was why Azazel kept him around.

To the fair-skinned woman with the fiery red hair, he reminded, “Bruised is fine, battered is not. Don’t play with your food.” She pursed her brilliant red lips but nodded curtly.

At the end of the line he pointed to the blonde in the brown leather jacket. “And you: no disintegrations.”

“You take the fun out of everything,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She slipped a dagger from her belt into her hand and gave it a deft flip. “But if that’s what you want. You’re the boss, Boss.”

Azazel stepped back and surveyed them for a moment before dismissing them. They exited the bridge, guided out by Commander Uriel, while Roman stayed behind frowning at their retreating backs.

“Don’t be such an infant,” the Sith lord said mockingly to his general. “We’ve wasted far too much time on this damn asteroid field as it is. You wanna be useful? Go find Winchester before the hunters do. Maybe then I won’t kill you before the week is up.”

Roman paled and scurried away.

Azazel approached the forward viewscreen, showing the vast, never-ending sea of asteroids floating amongst the stars before his ship. He crossed his arms over his chest.

_Where are you, you little shit?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bounty hunters:
> 
> Walker = Gordon Walker, the hunter turned vamp. The woman in purple = Meg, dressed like Zam Wessel. Alastair = Alastair. The red-head = Abaddon. Dagger girl on the end = Ruby 1.0


	23. Chapter 23

Dean woke with a jolt when Bela banged on his door. He almost fell out of his cot at the sudden noise.

“Wha–?” he responded blearily.

“Dean, something’s out there,” she said, and as he focused on her, he realized she was flushed and wide-eyed.

He climbed to his feet, instantly awake. “You okay?”

“There’s something out there,” she repeated. “Huge, disgusting mouth and wobbly, bug eyes.” She shuddered.

Dean swore. “Mynocks.” He shoved his boots on. “We better get out there and clear them off – we’re finally ready to get the hell out of here, I don’t want the damn things ripping Baby apart all over again.”

Dean pushed past Bela and down the corridor, snatching up a breath mask as he went. “I’ll be right back,” he said, pulling it onto his face.

“Wonderful, so will I,” said Bela, sliding on her own breath mask. She tapped on the comm and let Ree know she was headed out into the cave with Dean to dispatch some parasites.

“Bela…” he began warningly.

She held up her gun. “Two are better than one, yeah? Stop fussing and open the air lock.”

Dean clenched his jaw and jabbed at the controls to close the door behind them and let down the loading ramp. It wasn’t that Bela couldn’t hold her own; he’d just rather have to only worry about his own back in the mysterious cave of wonders.

The cave was strange to say the least. As the pair crept down the ramp, the part of Dean’s face not covered by the mask was hit with hot, sticky air. He crinkled his brow in confusion. He didn’t make a habit of frequenting asteroids and caves, but the ones he had experienced were cool and dry.

Dean peered around as he descended the ramp. Everything was so dark, it was impossible to see outside the radius of the _Impala_ ’s outer landing lights.

“Whoa, what the – ” He glanced down to the ground beneath his feet as he stepped off the ramp. It was bizarrely squishy and soft. He moved slowly, hating the way the terrain felt under his boots, squelching with every move.

Bela stepped out behind him and inhaled in surprise. “Well that’s quite unsettling, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t feel like rock.” Dean frowned. It was oddly misty in here too, or foggy or something. “Why is there so much moisture?”

“Beats me,” she shrugged.

Dean walked cautiously. It wasn’t slippery like mud; more like walking a bed of damp moss. It made his stomach churn – this whole cave was making his skin prickle.

“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” he mumbled, though Bela was too far away to hear him.

Behind him, her gun went off, and he whirled to see a smoking mynock tumble away from his ship.

“Got one!” Bela called, and Dean hurried over to investigate.

He swished his hand through the air to clear the mist and smoke hovering over the ground. The winged beast was face down and sizzling.

“Mynock, all right,” he confirmed grimly, poking it with his boot. “We better do a quick circuit, make sure there aren’t any more gnawing on the cables.”

Bela nodded, and they split up, going different ways around the ship. They met in the middle near the front. Neither had found any more mynocks, thankfully. Before Dean had the chance to suggest they head back into the ship, there was a flapping noise, and Dean spotted mynock wings bobbing at the edge of the _Impala_ ’s floodlight.

One of them dove towards Dean and Bela, heading for the ship. Bela screeched, covering her head with her arms when it swooped straight at her.

“Watch it!” shouted Dean. It veered up and away from Bela. He whirled and pulled the trigger on his blaster, downing the ugly creature.

The soft ground beneath them suddenly shifted, tilting and rumbling as it had been doing at random intervals since they’d been inside the cave. Dean struggled to maintain his balance and Bela grabbed onto the ship. The movement ceased and the sound of flying mynocks faded.

 _Weird_ , thought Dean, his eyes darting around the peculiar, hazy darkness. He glanced at Bela. “You okay?”

Her mask was fogging up with her hurried breaths. “Peachy,” she replied tersely.

Dean chuckled and turned his attention back to the cave. He was really starting to think it wasn’t a cave at all. He looked down at his boots, obscured by a veil of mist, and aimed his gun a few feet in front of him. He frowned thoughtfully. On a hunch, he squeezed the trigger.

As soon as the blaster bolt struck the ground, the whole cave seemed to erupt and roar around them. Dean nearly fell over as the terrain pitched sharply.

“What the hell–!” Bela shouted, her arms pin-wheeling as she stumbled and fought to stay upright. He thought she was probably bawling him out further but couldn’t hear her over the incredible din.

He struggled over the lurching ground towards the loading ramp, then up it, Bela fumbling along behind him. He ditched his mask the moment the airlock shut behind them and he ran for the cockpit.

“You first-rate idiot!” Bela yelled, tearing after him. “You impossible fool!”

The ship slanted and Dean banged into the wall with his elbow. He cussed at sharp pain.

“I had a hunch!” he explained over his shoulder, righting himself again.

Bela fell to her knees as the _Impala_ heaved and listed. “We had a perfectly nice hiding spot!” She scrambled back to her feet, clutching at the wall for support. “Why did you – ”

“Ree,” Dean bellowed, tumbling to the floor and using the doorway of the cockpit to pull himself up again. “Get us out of here!”

 _Already going,_ Ree squeaked back, her green hands flying across the controls. The ship came to life around them and Dean fell into the driver’s seat.

“The Imperials will still be out there and we’re not remotely ready!” Bela protested, dropping into the navigation chair as the cave shook and thundered around them.

“No time!” Dean barked, cutting her off as he jammed on the controls for lift-off. Okay, shooting the thing had been a very bad idea, clearly. But he’d had the thought that they were inside something alive, and kinda needed to know if they really were or not.

“This is my life you’re risking here too, and I don’t – ”

“We’re not discussing this as a committee!” Dean retorted, punching on the controls. He so did not have time for Bela to lecture him on Hiding From Your Enemies 101, as if he wasn’t fully aware of the situation. Far ahead he could see the walls closing in – or rather, what he suspected was the throat of the beast they’d accidentally camped inside.

“I am not a committee!” Bela snapped, and then her breath hitched. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” he confirmed, urging Baby on. _Come on, come on, come on…_

“Dean…” Bela’s voice quivered and she gestured weakly.

Up ahead, what had a second ago seemed to be rows of stalagmites and stalactites lining the cave’s entrance were in fact massive teeth slowly coming together.

“I see it, I see it!” Dean promised. He ground his jaw and pushed the _Impala_ to her limit, praying with everything he had that the repairs would hold.

On his right, Ree whimpered.

“Dean,” Bela murmured. “ _Dean_ …”

“Not helping!” he bit out. He cranked the controls to the right, putting the _Impala_ nearly on its side.

It was way too close for comfort, but the ship shot past the teeth unscathed. The _Impala_ soared high over the asteroid and Dean poured on the speed to ensure they were out of reach of whatever space creature they’d inadvertently bothered.

When Ree let out a loud exhale of relief, so did Dean. He glanced back with a cocksure grin at Bela, who had her hand over her mouth like she was trying not to throw up.

“See?” he laughed. “No problem.”

She scowled at him.

He chuckled again. It was, admittedly, with a little bit of hysterical relief, but he let Bela think he was being an ass because it obviously rankled her. He steered the ship back into the asteroid field and it was no less harrowing than the first time.

Yet again, even while Bela was gasping and clutching her chair behind him and Ree was deadly still, Dean felt like his skin was on fire. As he swung the ship around a pair of spiralling asteroids that exploded in his wake, Dean thought he was probably insane, but it was almost like he could _feel_ where the asteroids were going.

Even so, he wasn’t going to push his luck and kill them all in a split second lapse in concentration. He had to get them out of here and fast. As they rounded a massive, sluggish asteroid, Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach. Spread before him was the formidable Imperial fleet.

“You were saying?” Bela said behind him.

“Okay, fine, little problem,” Dean retorted, his tone sharp.

“Did you want me to drive?” she inquired flatly.

He hushed her, thinking fast. He knew they’d fixed the transfer circuits, but the hyperdrive was still too shot up to take them to lightspeed. Maybe if he hadn’t jumped the gun and forced them out of their space beast, they may have been able to wait it out and patch it up, but as it was, they were dead in the water. He needed a new plan.

“Ree, put all the power in the front deflector shield,” he ordered, his thoughts racing.

“You’ve got to be joking, darling.”

Ree ignored Bela’s remark and did as she was told, quickly flipping switches.

“Need I remind you that you are a tiny ship and that is a bloody Star Destroyer!?” Bela hissed.

“I have a plan!” he shot back.

“Oh, and look how well the last one worked out!” she countered.

 _Yeah, but this one’s better_ , thought Dean, his lips curling up in a smirk. _Hey Azazel – watch this._

 

~

 

As the small Corellian vessel veered around the flak in the air, Commander Uriel laughed, a low rumbling sound. “Unbelievable. They’re actually moving to attack position.” He signalled lazily over his shoulder. “Shields up.”

 _Cute,_ he mused. _They want to play war with us._ It was unlikely the pitiful little ship could do any damage, but in the event that this was a full-on suicide run, he didn’t want to take any chances. The ship barreled towards the Destroyer’s bridge.

A lieutenant scuttled up on Uriel’s left. “Lord Azazel has been informed of this development, sir,” he stated anxiously. After Uriel’s acknowledging nod, the pale lieutenant hurried away.

Uriel couldn’t help smiling to himself. Roman thought he was hot shit? Well, how bad was he going to look when a mere commander upstaged him by capturing Azazel’s prize? Surely this would bump him up to General status, if not Admiral.

As the ship screamed past, Uriel and the other Imperials near the viewscreen instinctively ducked. The alarms in the bridge ceased and Uriel’s eyes darted across the empty star-spotted sky outside.

“Track them,” he ordered. _What’s the play here?_ If Winchester thought he could simply fly past them, he was a bigger idiot than Uriel thought, and that was after the ship had flown straight at them. The Imperials had a few dozen ships in this fleet, not to mention the number of TIE fighters that could be deployed in seconds to bring them in…

“Sir?” One of the tracking officers down in the pit piped up, his face scrunched in confusion.

“What is it? Where’d they go?” Uriel demanded, spinning around to stare down at the officer.

“Sir, they’re gone,” the officer reported. His fingers flew across the keyboard, clacking loudly. “They’re not on any of our scopes.”

Uriel’s dark brow furrowed. “Impossible.” He gestured to one of the other officers. “Ship to ship,” he ordered, but within seconds, the officer was shaking his head.

“Nothing?” the commander said incredulously. “A ship that small can’t have a cloaking device – nothing advanced enough to hide from our sensors. Scan again!”

But even after half a dozen scans and more communications from the others ships in the fleet, the answer was the same: the _Impala_ had disappeared. Uriel was baffled. One second it was right there, directly in front of them – how the hell had it evaded them so instantaneously?

“Sir,” the lieutenant from before bustled up on to Uriel’s side again. “Sir, Lord Azazel demands an update on the pursuit of the enemy ship.”

Uriel felt his insides turn to water. He cleared his throat and sounded as stony and sure as he possibly could when he informed his staff that he would take a shuttle to the flagship to Azazel and update him in person. If the others looked at him like he was a dead man walking, Uriel pointedly did not take notice.

All the way to the other ship, he convinced himself that he was valuable. Not only to the fleet as a whole, but to Azazel himself. He was clever and strong, he had a mind for tactics, and he’d led more successful missions than any other at his same rank.

Uriel was sure he would be spared – after all, he wasn’t the only one who lost the ship. So had everybody else, including Roman – where the hell had he been on this anyway? Was he so busy licking Azazel’s boots that he’d missed Winchester’s ship altogether? Self-important prick.

As it happened, Uriel was not nearly as valuable as he’d believed himself to be. Azazel stepped over his twitching corpse without a second thought.

“Apology accepted,” the Sith sneered. “Commander Uriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #9 & #10
> 
> Cain: Owns an incredibly seedy bar in Smuggler’s Run. The food is crap, but it’s an established neutral zone for people looking to discuss terms, make deals, and swap merch. Everyone knows not to cross Cain – they say he once removed a human’s heart with his bare teeth. Bela thinks it’s bull, but even she isn’t about to try and pull a fast one on the old guy.
> 
> Naomi: A Core World judge, Naomi oversaw thousands of cases. She became a key figure after the fall of the Empire as she presided over hundreds of treason cases involving both Rebels and Imperials, as well as innocents caught in the crossfire of the war.


	24. Chapter 24

Sam threw himself into his training with fervor. He still couldn’t lift the X-Wing out of the water, but he was stacking crates while levitating rocks at different heights, while his hands were on the damp ground and his feet were in the air. Sweat trickled down his neck into his eyes making them burn, but he focused on Castiel’s voice and concentrated on the light he imagined holding up the rocks.

“Good,” Cas murmured softly. “Another stone… good, Sam, excellent. That’s it. Feel the stone… feel the Force around it…”

Sam’s arms began to shake and he breathed in slowly, taking his mind away from the strain in his body. He’d felt pretty ridiculous when Cas had made him do a handstand at first. This many hours later after multiple attempts to stay in this position for longer and longer stretches of time, it no longer felt strange.

Sam felt himself tilting, felt the rocks sliding out of his mind’s grip.

“Concentrate,” Cas instructed. “Hold on.”

Sam gritted his teeth, but the threads were breaking apart, and his arms couldn’t take it – the crate stack tumbled to the side, the rocks fell with dull thumps, and Sam collapsed in a heap. He sat up, swiped his moist arm across his dripping forehead, and tried to catch his breath.

“Why is it so… hard?” Sam panted.

Cas stood from the wooden stump he’d been sitting and came over to settle on the ground beside Sam. “Because if it were easy, then everyone could do it,” he offered with a smile.

Sam chuckled.

“You must remember: normally Jedi begin their training almost as soon as they are able to walk and talk,” the former Jedi explained. “Additionally, you do not have the advantage of being immersed in the Temple. The fact that you have come _this_ far – ” he gestured to the rocks, crates, and sunken X-Wing – “is nothing short of extraordinary.”

Sam supposed Cas was right. Except he didn’t really feel that extraordinary – he felt like he should be better, should know more. He felt like he needed to master all this Force stuff _right now_ so he could help Dean. The longer it took Sam to learn, the longer he was away from Jo, Dean, and the Rebels. That meant more time for the Empire to attack the person they thought to be the only remaining Winchester.

“I do not say this lightly, Sam, but I think there are a rare few Jedi out there who would be able to start at your age and pick things up this quickly.”

Sam nodded, wanting to believe Cas. But his eyes darted to the X-Wing, and feelings of inadequacy and discouragement wrapped around his shoulders again.

Cas gave Sam a gentle pat on the back. “You will get there – it takes work. It won’t happen overnight. You must learn to feel the Force everywhere – between everything. Every creature, every object, every atom.” He swept his hand out at the swamp. “Its energy surrounds us and binds us together…”

Sam nodded again and stood, tired of feeling sorry for himself. The best way to help Dean was to keep trying and to work harder, not to sulk in the mud. He rolled his shoulders.

The former Jedi stood as well, brushing himself off. “We can take a break,” he offered.

“No,” said Sam, his lips set in a thin line. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Sam,” Cas leveled his gaze. “We can take a break.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Cas was already heading back to the hut. Sensing he didn’t actually have a choice in the matter, Sam smiled and followed. Once they were settled in Cas’s tiny living room and Sam had downed half a canteen of water, he regarded the other man thoughtfully.

“Cas, why were you on the Death Star? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I was on a mission for the rebellion when my ship was attacked,” Cas answered, his tone somber. “We were all taken prisoner. Of course, once Azazel realized who he had…” His sigh was so heavy that Sam thought he could feel the weight of it from where he sat across the small room.

“Did he…” Sam tried to ask and found he couldn’t.

“Torture us?” the other man finished hollowly, then nodded, making Sam’s gut flip and twist. “He knew who I was – knew I was close to Dean. He wanted me to give him information about the Alliance, about Dean, anything he could use. He tried the others first. Then moved on to me.”

Cas looked away and his voice became empty and distant. “He killed my crew in front of me after that. And when I still would not break, even months later, they changed tactics. Healed me, left me in a cell to rot. No contact. Food through a hole in the wall.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed again. “I believe they always intended to use me against Dean, but we escaped – you saved us – before Azazel chose to play that card.”

Sam swallowed, swirled the water in his canteen, and pictured what Cas had been through. He wished he hadn’t asked. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s all right, Sam,” Cas said softly a moment later. “It’s in the past.”

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the canteen in his hands. It was anything but all right. That brought the total number of people he personally knew who’d been tortured by the Empire up to a stunning four. And that was only counting two who’d specifically told him, one he’d assumed, and one he’d guessed. He felt his hatred of the Empire growing in his chest, hot and deep and twining around his ribs.

As if he could read his thoughts (something he was proving to be quite adept at, Sam noticed), Cas said the younger man’s name in warning.

“Do not go down that path,” the former Jedi cautioned. “I can sense the anger coming off of you in waves.”

“It isn’t fair, Cas,” Sam bit out, his fingers tightening around the canteen so hard his knuckles went white. “People like you and Jo, Dean and Mom… Ellen… people like your crew. Tortured, killed, chased, and hunted – terrorized! It isn’t right and isn’t fair – God, how can you _not_ be angry about it?” He glanced up at Cas then.

“You are right, it isn’t fair. But becoming furious about it changes nothing,” said Cas, leaning forward in his chair. “Sam, bad things happen. Terrible, uncontrollable things. But dwelling on anger will lead to hate, and hate leads to suffering. It accomplishes nothing – pain begets pain.”

Sam held his jaw tight, trying to understand. “But…”

“Anger, hate, pain, aggression – these are all tools of the Dark Side, of Azazel and the Sith. It is easy to find those emotions, easy to let them flow and control you, and you must not let them,” Cas told him earnestly. “No matter how unjust something is, you cannot reach for these emotions first.”

“How?” demanded Sam. “How do you stop it, or…” He waved his hand in a helpless gesture.

The corner of his teacher’s mouth quirked into a small half-smile. “With practice. An incredible amount of practice. That is not to say you will never feel angry again. Or pain or hate and so forth. But you will learn to control those emotions, to wield them and separate them. To let go of the past, to be passive, to defend rather than attack.”

Sam considered this as he sipped some more water. He still couldn’t see how it was possible to be so at peace like Cas clearly was. Right now he was certain if he had the chance to face off with Azazel, he’d do everything in his power to cut the bastard into ribbons, everything else be damned.

Cas climbed to his feet and gestured to the door. “Come, Sam. Let’s practice.”

 

~

 

“I must say, this is actually rather clever. Especially for you.” Bela flipped her hair over shoulder.

“I’m sorry, was that a compliment?” Dean retorted. “I might die of shock.”

“Hmm, well, don’t get used to it.”

The _Impala_ was attached to one of the Star Destroyers in Azazel’s fleet, and had been for a few hours, confirming that they remained undetected. The Destroyers had, one by one, exited the asteroid field and moved into a regrouping position.

 _What’s the next move_? inquired Ree. _We just gonna stick here until we pass a good planet, or what?_

“Well, see how the fleet’s beginning to break up out there? _Finally._ ” He gestured out the viewscreen at the ambling Destroyers drifting apart. “If they’re the good little Imperials I know them to be, they’re gonna follow protocol and dump their garbage before they take off.”

Bela made an _ah_ sound of understanding. “Because they think we’ve escaped. And they’re going to jet off and find us now.”

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at her. “Bingo.”

 _And then we float away with the rest of the garbage,_ added Ree, clicking happily. _I like it_.

“Apt,” said Bela, her voice colored with amusement.

Dean rolled his eyes and forced himself not to rise to her bait.

“That… actually really is quite clever,” she added, sounding honestly impressed.

Dean turned in his chair to glare at her. “Okay, simmer down – no need to sound so surprised, sweetheart. I can have a plan go right once in a while, you know.”

“Emphasis on ‘once in a while’, I should think.”

Dean maturely repeated her words in a mocking undertone, and shook his head, returning his attention to the viewscreen.

“Why don’t you do something helpful and go stand by the manual release for the landing claw, huh?” Dean told her.

“Why don’t you – ” Bela began.

 _Oh for the love of all that is good,_ Ree clacked and stood. _Clearly the honeymoon is over._

Dean spun in his seat as the green co-pilot headed for the door. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ree fixed him with a look. _Please. I’m not that sound of a sleeper. Thank God for soundproof doors._

Bela flushed bright red and coughed. Dean, too, had the grace to be embarrassed. He turned his back on Bela and became very, very interested in the readouts on the console to his right.

Bela had been really flirty with him following their dalliance in the main maintenance closet, stopping him in the corridors to hook her fingers around his belt loops and pull him in for a surprise kiss or two. He hadn’t stopped her, even if he felt pangs of guilt in his chest each and every time. He’d made a promise never to go there with her again, yet there he was tangling his fingers in her hair and tasting her lips...

Since they’d blasted out of the mystery asteroid beast, it was as though Bela had remembered how they were supposed to be acting towards each other, and had returned to her usual cutting remarks. Dean had been torn between feeling hurt and used, and relieved that she was back to normal.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, just how screwed up ‘normal’ was between him and Bela.

 _I know the drill,_ Ree continued with a series of clicks. _I was there for Atzerri and Kalabra City. I was concerned for a minute there that you’d never get back to tearing each other’s throats out,_ she added sarcastically.

The quiet that followed Ree’s exit was deafening.

“So,” Dean said after an awkward couple minutes, desperate to fill the painful silence. “We need to find a safe place to limp to so we can get Baby fixed.” He definitely was talking louder than he needed to but he couldn’t help it.

“Of course,” Bela replied with another clear of her throat. She leaned forward to view the navigation charts Dean brought up.

She very carefully ensured her elbow was not touching his and he tried not to feel irritated by that. He did take pleasure in the fact that her cheeks were still burning – Bela did not embarrass easily. Selfishly, he hoped she was feeling guilty too.

“Whereabouts are we?” she inquired.

Dean tapped the screen a few times to zoom out. “Anoat system.”

“Anoat? Oh, bloody hell, there’s nothing in the Anoat system.”

He grunted in agreement, tapping the screen a few more times, scrolling for anything helpful. “Hey, wait a second…” He flicked the chart back, eyes narrowing. “Well, there’s that.” He leaned back in his chair and gestured.

“Bespin?” She gave a humorless laugh. “No, I don’t think Bespin is good idea at all.”

Dean smirked at her. “Why, what’d you do? Steal some guy’s ship?” He raised a taunting eyebrow at her.

“Cute,” said Bela. “But as I said before, I won it – it was a fair deal.”

“I swear, I want to go there just to take a strip off of him,” he growled.

“Mm, it really might not be a bad idea, though,” she mused.

He frowned at her. “Me taking a strip off…?”

“No, you darling idiot,” she rolled her eyes at him. “Bespin. Port in the storm. I mean, we both know the place, know the owner… Gambling, flirting, card-playing asshole though he may be. I see why you two were friends.”

“Hey!”

Bela’s lips quirked up in a teasing smile. “Do you think we can make it?”

Dean exhaled slowly, studying the nav chart. He flicked his eyes to the fuel gage and the other readouts by the main pilot console. “It’s far, but I think we can. We really don’t have a better option.”

She sat back in her chair and _hmm_ ed her agreement. “I don’t trust Calrissian, you know.”

Dean chuckled. “Neither do I, but he’s no Imperial and has no desire to be, so that gets him some points in my book.”

There was a loud clunking noise and Dean glanced up at the viewscreen to see the fleet was preparing for the jump to lightspeed. He pressed the comm button to connect to Ree.

“Okay, standby, it’s happening,” he said and held his breath. In the distance, he could see some of the other Destroyers jettisoning their waste. There was another noisy clunk, and the ship vibrated. “Now Ree – detach!”

The next moment, the _Impala_ was floating out into space amongst the Destroyer’s discarded debris. Dean couldn’t help the satisfied grin that spread across his face. When the Destroyers began disappearing one by one, roaring into hyperspace, he let out a _whoop_ of triumph. He got to his feet and faced Bela, spreading his arms out wide.

“Huh?” he grinned.

Bela shook her head but he could tell she was trying not to grin right back as she pursed her lips. She stood. “Oh please. I could’ve done better.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned to exit the cockpit.

“Liar,” he shot back, his tone low.

She gave him a sultry, coy smile before disappearing around the corner. He took it as a win and that this – whatever it was between them the past several days – wasn’t over yet. He settled back down in the pilot chair to make flight preparations for Bespin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #11
> 
> Harry & Ed: Two inept alien/human hybrids roaming the galaxy trying to make a documentary about the Rebel Alliance. It took them almost eight years after the Empire fell to complete, and hardly anyone ended up seeing it. It was a complete flop, but Harry & Ed were completely unfazed, having moved on to making a documentary about womp rats and the variations in species from planet to planet.


	25. Chapter 25

Cas made sure Sam didn’t fall into an expected routine. They both ate three meals a day and started the morning with a round of breathing and balancing to focus their minds. After that, he did his best to vary what and how he taught Sam and the types of physical activities they did.

Twice they trekked to a far-reaching lake for water-related exercises. It was farther than Sam had ever gone in Dagobah’s wilderness. Cas happily explained this was a clean water lake and held no dragonsnakes or creatures that would harm them. Sam gulped and took Cas at his word, not wishing to inquire what a dragonsnake was or if it’d been residing in the murky swamp water he had briefly swam through when he’d arrived on Dagobah.

Castiel taught him fight exercises with and without his lightsaber. They dueled, they grappled, and Cas showed him how to defend attacks hand-to-hand with and without a weapon. He instructed him how to use the Force to strengthen his moves – to run faster, jump higher, hit harder. Sam practiced whirling his lightsaber in a deadly combination of strikes and parries, honing his speed and technique.

Each night, Sam crashed into bed exhausted, his head bursting with new information. Each morning, he rose and did it all over again, rain or shine. He wasn’t really a fan of training when it was pouring rain and cold out, but Castiel reminded him it was all part of the training: the environment Sam might find himself in would not always be a friendly one.

“You don’t think the moss and the mud and the mist are enough?” Sam shouted over the rain cascading in heavy sheets around them. He had been doing much better at balancing on the rocks, but the rain was making it virtually impossible and he kept sliding off. He shoved his wet hair away from his eyes, for all the good it did, as water falling from above spattered on his cheeks.

Castiel laughed, looking annoyingly at peace in the rain, perched on his own rocks in the warrior pose. Sam envied the ease at which Cas did everything.

“No,” the former Jedi answered with a wide smile.

Sam shook his head but returned the smile and worked to focus on staying atop the slick stones.

The rain remained tepid for most of the day, which Sam could’ve appreciated if it didn’t mean staying drenched in it for hours on end. Sam’s hands and feet were bumpy and wrinkled, and there were red marks on his thighs and ribs from where his soaked clothes pulled and chafed.

As twilight drew nearer, the rain did not let up. It grew colder and colder until Sam and Cas were shivering. The former Jedi blessedly called it quits and they retreated in the direction of the warm, dry hut where fresh clothes and food awaited.

They were traversing a fallen tree over a thin, boggy creek, when one of the massive winged creatures Sam often saw hovering around came swooping in much lower than usual. Startled, Sam yelped and nearly lost his balance, flinging his arms out to steady himself. Castiel ducked to avoid the beast but in doing so took Sam’s arm in the neck and tumbled off the log.

The animal flew on, oblivious to the humans and Sam hopped down into the muck immediately to help Cas up.

“Oh God, Cas, I’m sorry,” he apologized, gently pulling Castiel to his feet.

Cas coughed and winced, wiping at the mud on his face. “It’s fine, Sam.”

They tromped up the mossy bank together and it wasn’t until they were almost at the hut that Sam realized the dark stain on Cas’s back wasn’t just mud.

“Cas, you’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, but the former Jedi waved his hand dismissively.

“I scraped it on some branches when I fell. It’s not bad.”

Sam clenched his jaw and his stomach twisted with guilt.

Cas chuckled and blinked the rain from his eyes as he ducked into the hut. “Really, Sam. I promise I’ve had far worse.”

They retreated to separate corners of the hut to change into clean, dry clothes before settling in the living room for dinner (a blackish savory stew that smelled like potatoes and rosemary). The fire in Castiel’s fireplace was never more welcome then that night, as the chill from the hours of rain started to evaporate from Sam’s limbs.

He set aside his bowl as soon as he was done. “How’s your back?”

“Actually,” said Cas, swallowing the last of his meal and putting his bowl to the side as well. “I couldn’t quite reach – you wouldn’t mind sticking some bacta on there, would you?”

“’Course not,” said Sam, hopping up to retrieve some bandages.

Cas doffed his shirt and moved from the chair to the couch, sitting down cross-legged. The injury indeed wasn’t as bad as the blood soaking his shirt earlier had made it seem. There was a ragged but relatively shallow dark red line slashing across one of Castiel’s tattooed wings.

Sam used a cloth to clean away the dried blood before applying the bacta. His eyes lingered on the wings; he couldn’t help himself. They were even more detailed up close, so finely inked they seemed like real feathers. He bit his lip, once again filled with curiosity about the tattoo but unsure if it was still too personal a question for him to ask, even after more than a week of spending every day together.

Cas ducked his head with a smile and thanked Sam for the help.

“No problem,” said Sam. “And I’m really sorry about shoving you off the log.” He grimaced.

Cas shrugged and tugged his shirt back on. “Dagobah is a very slippery place, Sam, it was an accident. I mean it: don’t worry about.” He settled into his chair with a pleased sigh and then regarded Sam thoughtfully. “You still want to know about the wings?”

Sam’s eyes brows went up. “If… only if you want to tell me.”

“Though we are not in the Temple, a part of the Order, or truly doing anything official here in this swamp, you are technically my Padawan learner,” said Castiel. “Which means certain levels of trust and friendship must exist between us. It’s only fair that I am open and honest with you, as that relationship requires.”

His wording was formal, but Sam could tell he meant it warmly and earnestly. Castiel already knew almost everything there was to know about Sam through their days of training and nights of deep conversation and reminiscing. Sam meanwhile, knew about Cas’s history as a Jedi and more recently as a Rebel, and little else.

“In my culture, when one comes of age,” Castiel began, folding his hands over his knee. “We are required to travel back home and spend a year immersing ourselves in our history, culture, traditions, and so forth. It is uncommon amongst the Jedi to leave during their training as I did, but there are some exceptions for certain cultures and races. I departed the Temple, bound for my one year at home.”

Sam leaned back into the couch’s old cushions, listening intently.

“Most, at the end of their year, do something to commemorate what they learned, how they grew. Often by adoring themselves with a symbol of some sort,” Cas continued. “That year was incredibly important and I never wanted to forget it – never wanted its importance to me as a person, and as a Padawan striving to be a great Jedi, to be diminished. I chose to commemorate my year with a tattoo.”

“Why wings?” asked Sam quietly.

“My ancestors were Diathim,” explained the former Jedi.

“You’re an angel?” Sam blurted. “I mean, sorry – it’s just that I used to hear the old spice traders in the market and the junkers in the yards talking about the angels all the time. Bobby always said they were a myth, but I read tons about the Moons of Iego and the winged angels, the Diathim, who lived there. Garth swore he met one once, but I think he just had a crush on some unsuspecting woman passing through Anchorhead.”

Cas chuckled. “It is not a fact I tend to spread around – people act strangely when you mention you are part angel, even distantly.” He smiled wryly. “The wings on my back are meant to be angel wings. I chose them to remind me to strive to be good and pure and kind, as my ancestors endeavoured to be. To seek justice and truth, and to uphold the ideals of the Jedi.”

He swallowed and glanced away then, his features darkening. Sam could tell he was thinking about the years of the Purge when he fled, and Sam didn’t know what to say or how to help his friend and master overcome his demons. There was a long pause in which Sam searched in vain for words of comfort and Castiel watched the fire burn down.

“Well,” Cas eventually broke the silence with a sigh. “Now you know, Sam Winchester.”

“Cas… I don’t know what else to say, but thank you for telling me,” said Sam. “It means a lot that you trust me like this.”

“You’re Mary’s son and Dean’s brother.” Castiel smiled. “Of course I trust you.”

And there was that look again – the one that implied the fate of the galaxy was in the palm of Sam’s hand. The one that made Sam feel hideously ill prepared to be the second Winchester, the one that made him squirm and feel entirely unworthy of such unyielding faith.

Sam turned away from that look and rose from the couch, bidding Cas goodnight. As he lay down in bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, he only hoped he was able to live up to a fraction of what Castiel believed him to be.

 

~

 

Luckily for Dean, Bela, and Ree, the trip to Bespin was not an eventful one. They ran into no trouble, Imperial or otherwise, and took turns manning the cockpit while the others continued with minor repairs and calibrations. If Dean and Bela were occasionally gone for an overly extended period of time and one of them returned to the cockpit with mussed hair, red marks peeking out from under their collar, and a sloppy grin on their face, Ree tactfully did not comment.

“So,” said Dean, plopping down in the co-pilot chair and smoothing his hair back. “Anything interesting?”

Ree shook her green head. _There was a weird heat signature that cropped up, but it was gone when I doubled checked_.

Dean frowned. “Yeah, that happened to me once too. Probably the damn engines misfiring.” He raked his fingers though his dark blond hair, messing it up again. “I’m going to be glad when Baby is back to normal.” He sighed and looked out at the stars.

The co-pilot peered at him curiously. _You okay? I mean, other than your ship basically chugging on fumes to go see the guy who gave your ship to Bela…_

He chuckled. “Thanks for that, by the way. You didn’t try to stop him?”

She put her hands up defensively. _Hey, I wasn’t there – I can’t take the blame for this one. I only found out about it later when I rejoined her at a pit stop in Smuggler’s Run._

“Sure, sure,” he waved her off.

After a stretch of companionable silence, Ree gently prodded, _So?_

Dean sighed again. “I just… I have a lot on my mind.”

When he didn’t elaborate, it was her turn to frown. _That’s very specific, Dean, thanks._

“C’mon, you know I’m not good at talking about stuff…” he said, trying to shrug her off.

_Winchester, I swear I’ll beat it out of you if I have to. You know I’m good for it._

The corner up Dean’s lips tilted in a soft half-smile. It was true – he’d seen Ree tear an arm off a rabid, blood-thirsty Ye’lik, saving his own hide from gaining some new holes.

“I’ve got to get back,” he finally said, his tone heavy and serious. He kept his eyes fixed on the console before him, because somehow talking to the air was easier than talking to an old friend. “I have to get back to Jo, and we have to take down the damn Empire. Billions of lives depend on it – on me. And I can’t…”

He faltered, trying to gather together the words he needed. “They’re capable without me, it’s not that, it’s just… I jeopardized so much back then. I can’t do it again. I can’t do it to them, and especially not when we’re so close to ending this.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face. “Bela… she…” he trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted.

Ree waited for several moments before she clicked softly, _You love her_.

Dean made a scoffing noise and a thousand ready-made protests sprung to his lips. Of course he didn’t love Bela – he couldn’t love her. She was conniving and selfish, always ready to do whatever was to her own greatest benefit regardless of anything or anyone. Ree had run with her for years, she knew her as well as Dean did. Bela drove him nuts, he hated her, she pushed his buttons effortlessly, and he couldn’t stand that arrogant smile she wore whenever she’d one upped him in some way yet again.

He didn’t care about her, not really, not anymore, not after everything they’d been through over the years. And he sure as hell didn’t _love_ her.

He stared at his hands. Dean whispered, “It’s nice while it lasts.”

He knew that all this was essentially a bubble, ever since they’d blasted away from Hoth. He and Bela had found what they’d once liked in each other, but it couldn’t last, they couldn’t sustain it. They’d already tried, multiple times. As soon as they regrouped with the Alliance, she’d get her reward – always her number one priority – and vanish into the black. Everything would go back to the way it was, and the bubble would pop.

Perhaps it was eternally foolish of him to enjoy it – he was really only setting himself up for heartbreak – but he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stop himself from believing that maybe she would come around this time, that maybe she would understand his cause, and she’d stay and fight with him in the end. That was likely even more foolish than relishing this time together, but he let himself believe it anyway.

A faint beep alerted Dean and Ree that they were approaching Bespin. The moment was over, and Dean cleared his throat, thrusting his emotions down as deep as they would go. Ree didn’t comment further, becoming all business and making flight adjustments. She knew Dean almost as well as she knew Bela.

Bela joined them in the cockpit when they broke atmo.

Bespin was a gas giant mostly covered with layers of completely toxic, inhabitable space. That space, however, happened to be an excellent source for tibbanna gas and so the planet was full of mining colonies. Cloud City, their destination, was one such colony, and the biggest. It was so named, as it was literally a city floating in the upper atmo where the air was breathable and non-life threatening.

Dean nudged the _Impala_ over and around the massive, billowing pink clouds, towards the shining behemoth in the sky. It’d been a long time since he’d been here last, but the giant hovering city was a sight that never got old for him. It hung amongst the clouds like some deity’s magnificent jewel, huge and imposing, glittering and beautiful.

The trio encountered a bit of roadblock when Cloud City’s security scouts refused to let them land without a permit or an appropriate landing code, despite Dean’s fervent declarations that they were friends with the owner of the mining colony. Bela eventually managed to sweet talk one of them into putting her through to their superior, who went radio silent for several tense minutes before returning and granting them permission to land.

“Thank you,” Dean replied tersely and jabbed the comm off with unnecessary force.

“They’re rather cagey, aren’t they?” Bela said, sitting in the navigation chair.

“I would be too if we showed up out of nowhere,” he grunted. “Especially since I’m going to kill him for giving you my ship – ”

“Don’t declare that so loudly, darling, they’ll be liable to shoot us on sight.”

“You stole it.”

“Won,” Bela corrected lazily.

“By way of stealing,” Dean pressed. He was never going to let her live that one down – it was Baby!

Ree moaned. _I would literally give anything to never hear this pointless argument ever, ever again. I’m seriously going to maim the next one of you who brings it up, I swear_.

Bela and Dean exchanged amused looks, but wisely changed the subject.

Dean expertly landed the _Impala_ on the empty pad they’d been directed and escorted to. The cloud cars that had been badgering them peeled off and went back to their patrol. He was very glad to see them go.

He followed Bela and Ree down the corridor away from the cockpit. Dean activated the landing ramp and let out a long sigh of relief. They’d made it without blowing up, falling apart, or getting trapped by Imperials again. He was afraid to jinx it, but it seemed like finally something was going right.

The landing pad was deserted. No personnel, no bots, nothing. Dean felt the hairs on his neck stick up.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

Ree glanced up at the pink and orange sky, painted with the shades of a sunset nestled somewhere in the voluminous clouds. _Maybe they’re done work for the night_ , she suggested. _Maybe that’s why those guards were so tetchy._

Dean glanced at Bela, who looked as unconvinced as he was.

The doors at the end of the landing platform opened and out came a group of uniformed people. In the lead was a man about as tall as Bela, with brown hair neatly combed away from his face. He strode towards them with purpose, his blue cape billowing out behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Gabriel Calrissian said loudly as he neared. “Would ya look at what the cat dragged in.”

“It’s been a while,” Dean smiled in greeting and held his hand out for Gabriel to shake.

Gabriel stopped before Dean’s hand and didn’t take it. The group of aides and guards trailing behind him stopped too.

“Oh no – _heeell_ no,” said Gabriel, crossing his arms over his chest. “Winchester _and_ Talbot? Yeah, this isn’t gonna work me.” He signalled over his shoulder to some of the guards. “Arrest them.”

Dean balked and stumbled backwards as Bela put her hands up, and the pair of them launched into a string of protests.

“No, don’t – ”

“There’s been a mistake – ”

“Gabriel, don’t do this – ”

“I can pay you – “

Gabriel burst out laughing and Dean realized that the officers had merely stepped forward then fallen back into ranks.

“Relax, kittens!” said Gabriel, grinning. “I’m just joshing you!”

Dean exhaled and Gabriel stepped forward to give him a quick, backslapping hug.

“Ah, I love seeing you two look terrified like that, it really brings me joy,” Gabriel chuckled. “I’d ask what you’ve been up to, but the headlines and warrants floating out there kind of do the talking for you.”

“Yeah…” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’re kind of in a situation.”

“Why else would you have come to me, my fair Dean?” He turned to Bela and gave her an exaggerated once over. “And may I say you are looking particularly ravishing.” Gabriel grasped her hand to plant a kiss on top of it and Bela laughed.

Dean tried not to glare but when Gabriel shot her a suggestive side-smirk and she was giving him bedroom eyes, he couldn’t help it. Dean cleared his throat and Bela slid her hand away. Gabriel stepped around them with another laugh to introduce himself to Ree.

“You and him?” Dean mumbled.

“Jealous?” she murmured back.

“No,” he said much too quickly.

Gabriel reappeared and waggled his eyebrows at them, then turned his attention to the docked _Impala_. “So, what’s the situation, kids?”

“Repairs,” answered Dean. “Hyperdrive mostly, but other stuff too. We’ve, uh, been through a few tight spots recently. Tried to patch ‘er up, but we need a lot of parts.”

“Not a problem at all, pal.” Gabriel nodded, looping his arm over Dean’s shoulders. “I’ll get my best people on it, and we’ll get her fixed up lickety-split. In the meantime, how about a tour? I own this place, you know.” He gestured for his staff to head back inside, and winked at Dean, Bela, and Ree. He gave Dean’s shoulders a pat then released him.

“Yeah, about that,” said Dean, falling into step with his old friend. “I’m pretty sure I explicitly told you to keep my ship safe here, while I was… occupied, Mr. Owner.”

“Mission. You were on a mission,” corrected Gabriel. “It’s okay to say it, buckshot – pretty much everybody in the galaxy knows who you are at this point. No point in being coy.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. But is your definition of keeping your friends’ ships ‘safe’ handing them over to heartless mercs in a game of – what was it? Sabaac?”

“Ah. So she wasn’t actually returning it to you,” said Gabriel, sounding completely unsurprised. The doors to the landing platform slid shut behind them with a soft _swoosh_.

Dean whipped his head sideways to pin Bela with a fiery glare, but she merely smiled.

“She said that and you believed her?” Dean demanded, turning back to his supposed friend. Gabriel knew how slippery and dishonest Bela could be when she so chose.

Gabriel winced. “ _Weeelll_ … I maybe was sort of in a large debt myself at the time.”

Dean scowled at Gabriel this time. “You bartered Baby away?”

“You know, it’s all very… complicated and a long time ago,” Gabriel said, waving his hand dismissively at Dean.

They descended a set of winding steps as they talked and argued (mostly) good-naturedly, passing large circular windows that looked out into the busy city. Inside the complex, everything was clean and brightly lit. Shafts of orange sunset streaked the walls across from the wide windows.

At the bottom of the first set stairs, they reached a main plaza and all but one of Gabriel’s staff split away from them to tend to other duties. The last man trailed wordlessly after them wherever they went. Dean wondered what it’d be like to have a personal assistant following him around all day, ready to fulfill his every whim.

There were a handful of people, droids, and aliens bustling about this way and that. Many were dressed in the same blue uniform as the staff that had met them on the landing platform. They tapped at computer stations embedded in the walls or hurried by with tools and clipboards.

Dean and the others crossed the plaza, passed under a tall archway and descended another set of stairs. They squabbled more about Dean’s ship. He couldn’t get a straight answer from Gabriel (who kept changing his story) about what had really happened to land the _Impala_ in Bela’s possession. In the end, Dean remained convinced that Bela had indeed stolen it, knowing it was Dean’s, and Gabriel was too proud to admit he’d blown it by letting her.

Gabriel showed them through plaza after plaza, which all looked pretty much the same to Dean, though Ree was fascinated by the smooth, modern architecture. She ran her long green fingers along the columns here and there or the doors edged with various designs.

Bela projected vague interest, but he could tell from years of knowing her that she was continuously on the lookout for the exits in every area they passed through. Dean kept his fingers casually close to the blaster on his hip in case they ran into some trouble, Imperial or otherwise, unable to shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

Gabriel talked about how the colony and the gas mine came to be and his duties in running them. He spoke about supply issues and labor difficulties, and seemed both pleased and bored to be dealing with such large-scale matters.

“It’s like I’m a responsible adult now or something,” he huffed, though there was a twinkle in his gold-brown eyes that betrayed how he really felt. “My brothers would be so proud.”

Dean knew Gabriel was a fun-loving, mischievous, flippant son of bitch, but he was also brilliant, calculating, and had clearly had taken well to running this outpost.

The tour kept going and eventually Dean couldn’t take any more.

“Look, Gabe, I appreciate all this, but it’s been a long week, or so, and I really need to kick back for a few hours.”

“I was just getting to the good stuff,” Gabriel pouted, but Dean could tell he wasn’t serious (was Gabriel ever serious?). “You’ll like the living quarters – they’re damn swanky, if I do say so myself. Well, then again, I did design them,” he added oh-so-modestly.

He brought them to the stretch of luxury apartments and living quarters he’d mentioned. There were plenty of empty ones to choose from in this sector, he explained, as it was newly built. Dean wanted three separate adjoining rooms, Bela said they could easily make due with one. Ree thankfully agreed with Dean.

 _We just spent how long in close quarters together?_ she clicked and squeaked. _Some space would be very welcome._

“Oh, very well,” Bela gave in.

Gabriel glanced between Dean and Bela. “Trouble in paradise?” At the twin glares they gave him, he threw his hands up defensively. “All right, all right, sorry I asked. Sheesh, I forgot how you two can be. Here’s your fobs and there are your rooms. If you’ll excuse me, I have a high-stakes pod race to go bet on. Call me or someone on my staff if you need anything. Enjoy, boys and girls.” He offered them a short bow and headed away whistling.

Dean could feel Bela’s eyes on him but didn’t spare her or Ree a glance as he made for his room. He shut the door behind him and surveyed the living quarters he would be staying in. It was open, spacious, clean, and white.

There were artsy looking sculptures in the kitchen area and on the big glass coffee table in the living room. The windows and skylights were smooth geometric shapes of varying sizes. Dean assumed it was for artistic flair. Nothing in the place was what he was used to nor was it his taste, but it was admittedly pretty nice, and Dean hoped he didn’t break anything during his stay.

He headed for the shower first – it took a few minutes to figure out the fancy, multi-option panel and get a regular stream of hot water going – then he crashed in the gigantic, exquisitely soft bed. He collapsed with a heavy sigh. Much as he loved flying Baby, it felt good to not be sleeping on a cot and not be drifting in space.

Out of habit, he slid his blaster under his pillow. He was asleep in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #12 & #13
> 
> Cassie: Dean had a fling with her as a teen back on Alderaan. He always liked her a lot, but it never really had the chance to develop into anything, as he was shortly recruited into the family business of trying to tear down the Empire. They lost touch after a few years. She perished when the Death Star blew up Alderaan.
> 
> Sammandriel: Led a mission with a group of Bothans to retrieve the Death Star plans, but was sadly killed in the process, along with his team. Castiel led the next mission (and was captured), and when that failed, Dean went.


	26. Chapter 26

“Focus,” Castiel instructed softly.

Sam breathed in, slow and deep. The crates were floating individually this time and Sam was doing a handstand on a set of slippery stones. He took another slow, long breath, concentrating, letting the Force pulse through his veins.

At first, it was just a feeling. Dread, pain, something dark, sliding through his chest, over his eyes. He blinked it away, exhaling.

“Good,” Cas said. “Sam, you’re doing so well.”

His voice sounded peculiarly distant and then the sinister feeling was back, stronger. It coiled around his ribs and Sam felt his arms begin to shake, the threads of light wobbling and splitting. _What’s happening?_

Then he saw it:

_A city in the clouds. Magnificent and shining in the sunlight, surrounded by thick, beautiful billows._

_Inside. White walls, light, beings rushing about their day. Massive round windows, views of the charming city beyond._

_A room. Dark, foreboding. A blonde woman standing in the corner, in the shadows, arms crossed over her chest. Watching impassively, but her fingers twitch for the dagger at her belt._

_Stormtroopers. Someone in an Imperial uniform. Terse instructions._

_A man in black. Yelling. Anger – no, rage. And… delight? Sadistic glee._

Sam was frightened, his stomach was in knots and he was terrified the man would turn around and look at him.

_Screaming. Pain – incredible pain –_

Sam gasped.

_The man in black moves. Beyond him, Dean is strapped down and being held over some sort of device. It is sparking and poking at his chest. Dean’s voice, raw from screaming, his features twisted with agony._

“Dean!” Sam called out, horrified and scared.

_Bela. Her lip bloody, her eye swollen shut. The man in black strikes her again and again. Demanding and unyielding._

“No!” Sam shouted, as if they could hear him. “Stop! Let her go!”

_Ree. Unmoving on the floor of a dim room. Green skin splotched with something dark._

_Dean again, and there’s blood – far too much blood – and more screaming._

_The man in black turns around. He’s laughing. His eyes are a toxic shade of bright yellow._

Sam collapsed on the ground and retched. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t trembling. He tried to blink away the images he’d seen and he gasped for breath.

“Sam? _Sam?_ ” Castiel was at his side and Sam had no idea how many times he’d said his name.

“Cas, what the hell…” Sam pressed his palms to his eyelids and fought against a fresh wave of nausea.

“What did you see?” the former Jedi demanded. “Sam, listen – tell me what you saw.”

Sam shakily recounted the images. Cas looked grim as he sat back on his heels.

“What happened? What the hell was that? It was like…” Sam shoved his hand through his hair, taking a long breath to help his heartrate return to normal. “Like an incredibly vivid nightmare. But I wasn’t asleep.”

“You’ve had a vision,” explained Cas. “It happens sometimes. When you are in touch with the Force, sometimes you see things – the past, present… old friends, family… strangers. The future.”

Fear grabbed at Sam’s insides again. “Present? Future? Are you saying – ”

“Not necessarily,” Cas interrupted and shook his head. “Sometimes visions are… sometimes they mean something else.”

“Like what? What meaning could I possibly draw from watching my friends being tortured? Other than the obvious?”

Cas frowned. “It’s not for me to say. I don’t know why the Force chose to show you those things.”

“But is it real? Are they really being tortured?” Even as he asked, Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He held his breath while Castiel closed his eyes.

The seconds dragged on until Cas opened his eyes and shook his head. “It is too hazy. The future is always in motion – it is incredibly difficult to see into it with any form of certainty.”

Sam’s gut turned over. But what if they were? What if Dean and Bela and Ree were being tortured at that very moment, and here was Sam hanging out in the dirt, moving some crates around? Or what if they hadn’t been captured yet, but were about to be? Sam could warn them. He could leave right now and track them down…

“It is not certain, Sam,” Castiel repeated, as usual speaking as though he could sense Sam’s thoughts. “And it may not mean what you think.”

Sam exhaled. He wanted to believe Cas, but Dean’s wrecked screams were still echoing in his ears.

The former Jedi passed Sam a canteen of water and they sat in silence for several minutes while Sam drank and worked to shake the hellish vision, if that in fact was what it had been.

The pair went for a run, followed by more combat training, and by the evening Sam was feeling a lot less unsettled. He put it out of his mind and lay down to sleep.

He is dreams were plagued by the same images, twice waking him in a cold sweat. After the third time, he simply lay awake until the room began to grow lighter. Sam threw off the covers and went out into the hut to prepare breakfast.

Cas was surprised to find him up first and Sam explained about the recurring nightmares. Cas was somber again, but assured Sam that his mind had been disturbed so much by the original vision that it hadn’t been able to let it go.

Sam felt unnerved as they moved through their morning exercises. He was apprehensive about working on focus and concentration activities lest he be hit with another nightmare vision. At Castiel’s gentle prodding, however, Sam went ahead. He was relieved when no visions impeded his training.

 

~

 

That afternoon, Sam decided he wanted to take another crack at hauling his ship out of the water.

“Think I can do it?” Sam asked, tossing his master a wry smile.

Castiel gestured to the sunken ship. “Only one way to find out.”

Sam stood at the water’s edge and squared his shoulders. He raised his hand out towards the ship and employed all the breathing techniques Castiel had taught him. Sam pictured light wrapping around the X-Wing, imagined the threads sliding it out of the water, wrapping around the engine and the wings. He convinced himself it wasn’t heavy – it was no heavier than the crates – and the Force was the one lifting it, not him.

A cold feeling bloomed in his chest. He could feel himself start to waver, and he worked harder to stay focused.

The feeling grew, something dark and dreadful sliding around his bones, and Sam felt panic spike his heartrate. _No, not again_ –

_A city in the clouds. Magnificent and shining._

_Inside. White, clean, full of people._

_A room. A stone-faced blonde. troopers._

“No!” Sam shouted – he couldn’t bear to see it again.

_The man in black. Dean. Blood. Screaming and pain and horror._

_Dean being choked – his fingers scrabble at his neck, his eyes bulge, his face turns purple. His legs kick uselessly in the air above the floor._

“Let him go!” Sam called and he tried to run to his brother, but his feet would not move.

_Evil laughter from the man in black. Piercing, poisonous yellow eyes._

_Dean so helpless, so hopeless. Dying._

Sam reached for him, screamed for him.

_Yellow Eyes flicks his wrist and Dean’s neck snaps with a sick crack._

Sam was on the ground. The X-Wing was bubbling back under the water, and Castiel looked as nauseous as Sam felt.

“He killed him,” Sam cried, tears sliding down his cheeks. “He killed him, Cas. He murdered Dean and I couldn’t – ”

“It wasn’t real,” Castiel reminded him softly. He was pale and visibly upset.

Sam rounded on him. “What if it was? What if it _will_ be? I have to find him and save him!”

Cas shook his head. “Sam, you’ve come so far, but you still have so far to go. Even if these visions are real and you do find Dean, you do not yet have the strength to conquer Darth Azazel.”

“I can’t leave him to die, Cas. I have to try.”

Cas sighed. “If we consider the possibility that these visions are truly real, and you rush off to rescue them, you may be able to help them. _May_. If you arrived in time to prevent what you saw. But you would cut short your training. You would destroy what they have fought and suffered for. You would not be ready and you would very likely die at the hands of Azazel too.

“You have said yourself, you must be strong to aid the Alliance in ending the Empire,” his master continued. “Stop now, and you will not be ready. You will not be able to help them how you need to. The Empire will not only have killed the Winchester they know about, but they will have unwittingly ended the other as well. All will be lost.”

Sam tears stung his eyes again. Castiel was right and Sam hated it. He couldn’t bear the idea of resigning Dean to the hands of Azazel, but that was only assuming the visions were real views into the future. Suppose they truly were only nightmares – paranoia and inner fears manifesting as something more tangible? Suppose these images were simply the Dark Side of the Force trying to lure him into making a catastrophic mistake?

The problem was, he had no real way of knowing. He desperately wanted to take off and find out for himself. But Castiel was his master, wise and gentle, and he did not seem to believe the visions were true representations of the future or the present. Sam trusted him. At this point, he trusted him more than anyone in the galaxy.

So Sam nodded. He breathed in slow and steady and he nodded. He worked to put the grisly images out of his mind and move on with his day.

 

~

 

While the _Impala_ was being repaired, Gabriel treated Dean, Bela, and Ree exceptionally well. He let them have free rein over his personal, private, luxury sector. It included a bar, a lounge, a pool, and a recreation area all for just their enjoyment. Dean worried over the hours passing by but still took pleasure in the perks of being friends with the owner of a well-off mining colony.

Gabriel and his shadow, the expressionless man who seemed to trail him everywhere, came and went. They checked in periodically to see how their visitors were doing, and Dean badgered his friend about how repairs were coming along. Gabriel was vague, but promised that things were progressing well, before he was pulled away to some meeting or minor crisis.

“Crisis, sure,” Dean grunted, knocking back some Idlewil liquor. It burned as it went down and he wondered how much the stuff cost. He decided he was probably better off not knowing.

Bela, in the pool chair beside him, toweled her hair and smiled at him. “I’m guessing a shady game of space poker is more likely.”

Dean chuckled.

He wasn’t sure what Ree had gotten up to; though earlier she’d been talking about visiting the archives in the complex. His eyes drifted around the expansive room, the massive skylight splashing sunlight down onto the glistening turquoise pool. Hot guilt stabbed his gut.

Here he was, having a damn holiday when he should’ve been regrouping with the Rebels. He wondered how much progress they’d made with the Death Star plans, and again thought about who amongst his crew and friends had died on Hoth.

He dropped his gaze to his empty glass. His message to Jo had sent automatically as soon as they exited the asteroid, but in the days they’d hobbled on to Bespin, he’d received no reply. Did that mean she was gone? Had his message not gone through? Had something more major happened after he’d jetted away with Bela?

“What are you thinking about?” asked Bela, lounging beside him.

Dean blinked, having forgotten for a minute that she was there. “Hm?”

“You look sad and sullen,” she told him. “It’s at war with how very lovely it is here. I’m not sure how you can be so miserable with all of this at our exclusive disposal.” She waved her hand lazily before her, indicating the lavish setting.

When Dean didn’t reply, she sighed. “Oh, do cheer up, darling. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He hadn’t meant to sound quite so sharp.

Bela bit her lip. After a moment, she stood and came over to Dean’s chair. She plucked his glass out of his fingers and set it aside. He looked up at her until she straddled his lap and leaned down to kiss him.

He pulled away. “Bela, what’re you doing?”

“I should think that should be quite obvious,” she said softly then trailed her lips along his jaw.

He planted his hands on her hips. “What are _we_ doing?” he tried again.

Bela sat back slightly, her damp hair framing her face. “Taking advantage of the situation.” She grinned at him, then added in a more serious undertone, “While it lasts.” She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he stopped her.

“And when it’s over and we’re with the Alliance, then you’re gone.” He’d meant it as a question, to gauge her reaction, but it came out a bitter statement instead.

Bela huffed out a sigh. “Darling, if you’d rather get all moony and heartbroken, then by all means – ”

Dean reached up behind her neck and jerked her close for a fierce kiss. He was pissed at her and didn’t quite know why, and he kissed her angrily. It was like back on the ship, that night in the maintenance closet, when he was terrified he’d never get the chance again, when he realized he was still an addict aching for another fix.

As soon as the ship was repaired, as soon as they regrouped with Rebels, she was off to square her debt with Lillith. He saw it coming from a thousand miles away and yet he still managed to feel prematurely angry about it.

Abruptly Bela broke away from him, and with a teasing smile, she dove into the pool.

For the rest of the afternoon, Dean was reminded of his and Bela’s time in Jiroch. Of course for her it’d apparently been one big long con, but for him it’d been something real. They swam in Gabriel’s pool, swapped stories, clinked glasses, and shared memories of their more colorful adventures together.

He stole kisses and made her laugh, caused her to roll her eyes and shoot him dirty looks. She made cutting remarks and insulted him, used sultry innuendo and gazed at him from under her eyelashes in a way that made his heart race.

She made him forget about his mission, the Empire, and everything that went with it. For a few hours, he was able to relax and not feel the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders – a weight he’d carried since he was a child. It was a strange, imperfect but extraordinary little bubble and he found himself hoping it would never end.

That night, as he draped his arm over Bela’s bare stomach and closed his eyes with a small smile on his lips, he noted that her bed was as comfy as his. Just before he was fully asleep, he felt Bela press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I still don’t care, you know,” she whispered. “Not even now.” But she wriggled a little closer to him and snaked her arm under his, contradicting her quiet words.

He was too close to sleep to respond. He figured he probably dreamed the whole thing anyways.

 

~

 

The next day, Gabriel was still way too vague about how the repairs on the _Impala_ were progressing. His assistant was ever stone-faced and trailing silently behind him.

“You put her through the ringer, Dean-machine,” he laughed. “There’s a lot more than just the hyperdrive to fix, which by the way is totally banjaxed. She’s riddled with blaster holes, fried to hell…”

“Thought you had your best people on it,” Dean teased then nodded his chin at the shiner Gabriel was sporting on the left side of his face. “What happened there?”

“This souvenir?” Gabriel gestured to the purple and red bruising. “This is what I get for trying to stop a not-so-friendly game of Dejarik. I know, I know, I should’ve let my detail handle it, but I was there, and I’m the owner, and you know I can’t help playing the good Samaritan.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, there may have been some chips and credits involved,” Gabriel admitted flippantly. “They may have been my chips and credits.”

“You cheated, didn’t you,” Bela mused, sipping at the yellow drink in her hand.

“Let’s not call the kettle black, Ms. Talbot,” Gabriel retorted smoothly.

Bela lifted a shoulder in acknowledgment and asked if he’d seen Ree around lately. “She went to check out the archives early yesterday and we haven’t seen her since. I wasn’t worried about it until today – she’s supposed to be having lunch with us.”

“I haven’t no, sorry,” said Gabriel with a quick shrug. “The archives are pretty gigantic though, you sure she just didn’t get lost?”

“Unlikely.”

Dean frowned. It wasn’t like Ree to disappear without at least leaving word of where she’d gone to, though it wasn’t like the three of them really had any place to be. In all likelihood, they’d simply missed her – she’d come in late and left early again.

“Well, if she’s not around to dine with you, can I interest you schmucks in having lunch with me?” Gabriel offered with a wide grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

Dean looked to Bela who shrugged and set aside her drink. “Why not,” he answered.

Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Excellent. I have this chef – oh, you guys are gonna love him. Six arms, and he can make anything you can think of. Literally. I’ve tried to stump him by asking for the most obscure thing I can think of, but damn it, he can even make Selopedrian stew.”

“Why the hell would you – why would _anyone_ ask for Selopedrian stew?” Dean asked with a chuckle.

“On purpose,” Bela added in the same tone.

“Exactly my point,” said Gabriel.

He chattered on about his fantastic chef as he led them away from his private wing, back through bustling corridors. They were far busier than the last time he’d brought them through, with dozens and dozens of humans and aliens making their way around the city.

Dean cut into Gabriel’s food-related ramblings to ask after the _Impala_ again.

“Has anything changed since we were upstairs fifteen minutes ago?” Gabriel shot back. “Geez, you’re impatient.”

Dean frowned at him, irritation rising. “Gabe, it’s kind of important. Nice as your place is, we can’t keep sitting around like it’s some damn holiday – ”

“Relax, bro,” Gabriel held up his hand. “I get it. Calm down and untwist your panties. You have places to go, people to see. I’ll go down and personally check on the thing as soon as we’re done lunch, all right? Is that satisfactory, your rebel highness?”

Dean breathed out through his nose but nodded. He couldn’t exactly do anything but wait at this point, frustrating though it was.

“ _Thank_ you,” Gabriel said with a mock bow.

Bela bumped her shoulder against Dean’s. “Take a breath, darling, and unclench your jaw before you snap your pretty bones. It’ll be done when it’s done, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes at her and continued after Gabriel, who began regaling them with a story about the time he’d been stabbed over a prank and misunderstanding.

Gabriel led them around a corner into a spacious dining room with a long table. For a split second, Dean wondered who they were dining with – there were people already seated at the table. In the next, he was yanking his blaster out of his holster and shooting as fast as his fingers would let him. Bela gasped and went for her gun too.

Azazel held up his palm and the blaster bolts pinged harmlessly into the wall. With a sickening grin, he twitched his fingers and their blasters went flying. Azazel caught them, one in each hand.

“Hey Dean,” the Sith growled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Hot and cold shocks rippled all over Dean. A horde of troopers filled up the corridor behind him and Bela, cutting off their only exit. Dean spun to face Gabriel, ready to see the same horror and astonishment on his features. Instead, his friend was uncharacteristically grim, and suddenly everything made sense.

Gabriel had been stalling. He’d betrayed them.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, barely meeting Dean’s eyes. “I had no choice.”

Dean sneered and lashed out, landing a heavy blow to Gabriel’s face before the Imperials swarmed them. Dean was grabbed and shoved. He tried to run. A fist smashed into his head, a boot connected with his shin. He heard Bela cry out and he struggled to get away from the hands forcing cuffs onto his wrists. He shouted and a second later, he was on his knees with a trickle of blood seeping from his nose onto his lips.

Azazel strode around the table, covering the length of the long room as if he were savouring every second. He stopped directly in front of Dean, leaned down and grabbed a chunk of Dean’s hair forcing the rebel’s head back so he had to look straight into those menacing yellow eyes.

“Oh, Winchester,” Azazel bared his teeth in another gut-twisting grin. And as he’d said snidely the last time he’d captured Dean: “We’re going to have so much fun.”


	27. Chapter 27

That night, Sam woke with start. He thought he’d had another vision or nightmare, until he heard Cas calling out. Sam was on his feet and stumbling into the hut’s small common area before he realized Cas was asleep and muttering Dean’s name.

Sam sucked in his breath and knelt down beside his master, gently shaking him awake. “Hey, Cas, wake up. It’s okay…”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open and there was no mistaking the pain and shock in them.

“You had one too?” whispered Sam.

Cas swallowed and he sat up, scrubbing his palm over his face. “I… I’ve _been_ having them.”

Sam scrunched his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I…” The other man ducked his head. “Before you… I saw it too.”

Sam sucked in his breath sharply.

The former Jedi gazed at the fireplace. The dying embers cast a faint orange glow on them. He seemed so small, so helpless, so sad.

There were several long moments of silence. Cas buried his face in his hands and his shoulders slumped. Sam tried to breathe. If his master had been having visions of Dean and the others being tortured and killed, surely that meant there was truth to them? Why else would both of them be plagued with the same images if not to try to prevent them?

“I have to go,” Sam finally said.

“Sam, you can’t,” Cas shook his head. “You must complete your training.”

“I can’t get those images out of my head!” Sam burst out, hopping to his feet. “And if you’ve been seeing it too – Cas, I can’t sit here and move rocks around while my brother is tortured!”

“We don’t know for sure – ”

“But what if, Cas, huh? What if they _are_ true? And we stay here and do nothing?” Sam paced, his heart crashing against his ribs. Every second he stood here arguing was another second he wasn’t on his way to Dean. “What if they die?”

“We have no way of knowing what these visions represent,” Cas tried again, sounding incredibly weary. “What if they’re already dead?”

Sam pressed his lips into a hard line. “I can’t accept that. I won’t.”

“Suppose you do go after them. You are not strong enough to defeat Azazel, not yet. I told you.”

“Then come with me,” said Sam earnestly. “Maybe I’m not, but you are.”

“No,” Cas replied, his tone flat. “My place is here. This is where my path leads and I must – ”

“Screw your path!” Sam burst out. “Screw destiny and saving the galaxy! If I can’t stop Azazel from killing my brother, none of it matters!”

Cas was on his feet then too, shaking his head again. “Sam, listen to me.” His voice was as hard as transparisteel. Sam had never heard him sound like that before. “You must have patience. You must calm your mind, take a step back, and understand what it is you are – ”

“Pull the ship out,” Sam snapped, cutting him off.

“What?”

“My ship. Pull it out of the water.”

“I can’t – ”

“If you can’t, then why the hell have you been trying to get me to!” Sam threw his hands up, his frustration and desperation bubbling over.

Castiel sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Sam spun on his heel and headed for the door, letting the wood bang against the outside of the hut. He stalked over the rocks and mud in the dark, heedless as he slipped and stumbled, until he was at the bank of the swamp. He held out his hand, took a few breaths, and tried to reach for the Force to raise the X-Wing.

He was too angry, too muddled, and after a few minutes of trying, all he managed to do was make the water near the submerged ship ripple and bubble.

“Come on!” he shouted. He reached down and scooped up a handful of pebbles, flinging them into the black water, then some more, then bigger rocks, over and over until he the fight seeped out of him. He sat at the edge of the water with angry tears in his eyes, feeling trapped and terribly helpless.

Castiel settled beside him some time later. For a while, they simply sat in silence until the first blue tendrils of dawn grew above them in the misty sky.

“It would be reckless,” the former Jedi said softly. “You’re not ready.”

“Cas, I can’t stay,” Sam replied, his voice breaking at the edges. “I can’t sit here and see those things and not try _._ ” When Cas said nothing for several moments, Sam added, “Cas, please.”

His master sighed. “This isn’t what Mary would have wanted.”

Sam ducked his head and thought about the blonde woman he’d seen in holo-photos, the woman who’d appeared to him in the snow on Hoth. And he thought about Ellen.

“Mary gave birth to me, but I didn’t know her,” he said slowly. “Ellen… Mom would’ve…” He chuckled a little. “Mom would’ve cuffed me upside the head and asked me why the hell I was still on Dagobah.” He chuckled again at the thought, but he knew it was true as soon as he said it. He turned to his master. “I can’t stay. I _have_ to try.”

Castiel hesitated. His brow furrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. His expression eased as he rose. Sam scrambled to his feet at once.

“You won’t be able to leave for a few hours at least,” Cas warned. “The ship will need to dry out first.”

“Dry out?” Sam echoed with a small, wry laugh, gesturing to the moss and vines and mist all around them.

His master gave a slight shrug and half-smile before straightening his shoulders, planting his feet, and raising one arm out towards to the sunken ship. Cas closed his eyes and breathed slow and steady.

Nothing about the former Jedi changed. He was still, peaceful, his arm was relaxed and his breathing even. Yet the water began to bubble and then bit by bit, the X-Wing rose out of the slimy swamp. Sam watched in awe as it emerged, long pieces of water plants hanging off the hull and wings. The ship was black and silent, yet it glided high over his head. Cas turned his body to follow the ship’s gentle trajectory and slowly lowered his hand. The ship settled onto the soft ground with a squelch, water dribbling out of all its crevices.

Sam approached the ship and realized his mouth was hanging open; he closed it with a snap. Cas opened his eyes and offered his friend a smile.

“Cas…” Sam ran his fingers over the glistening hull, still stunned by how utterly effortless his master had made that seem. “That was incredible. I can’t… how did you _do_ that?”

“With many, many years of practice,” he replied. He was worried and saddened all over again by the prospect of Sam running off to find Dean.

Sam frowned. “Come with me. Help me.”

Cas swallowed, still conflicted, but shook his head. “My place is here, and so is yours. But I will not stop you.”

Sam leveled his gaze at his master. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “As soon as I find Dean and get him out… of whatever the hell is going on. I’ll come back and finish my training. I promise.”

His master didn’t seem reassured, and though it made Sam’s stomach twist uneasily to see his friend look this way, he was determined. He had to leave – he _had_ to find Dean.

 

~

 

First, it was some kind of electric table. They strapped him down and tilted him towards a large square device. Silver needle sent harsh shocks of electricity snapping into his chest and sizzling through his limbs. Dean gritted his teeth and tried not to scream, tried not to give Azazel the satisfaction. But Dean could only take so much before he couldn’t hold his cries in.

They threw him back into his cell and he lay on the cold damp floor, his muscles twitching and his nerves scorched raw.

Then Azazel tried questioning him, even though they both knew Dean wouldn’t give him a damn thing and Azazel was only giving himself a proper excuse to smack Dean around a bit. They tossed Dean back in his cell after a long afternoon of ‘questioning’. He curled against his aching ribs, cupped his bruised jaw with his bloody hand, and worked hard not to dwell on what the Imperial bastards might be doing to Bela and Ree.

 _If they’re even still alive._ Dean shuddered. He hadn’t seen them since Azazel’s troopers had led them away from the dining room and shoved them into these prison cells.

After that, they let him rest for a while – Dean wasn’t sure how long, the only light in the cell was artificial in the grates above his head – until the troopers drug him back out for more of Azazel’s entertainment. The Sith really liked that electric table.

He gave up the pretense of trying to get any information out of Dean and moved on to straight out torture. It was pure revenge, his personal Winchester vendetta.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to talk,” Azazel hissed in Dean’s ear. “This is much more fun.”

“I don’t care what you do, Azazel, I’m never giving you a damn thing, you fu– ”

Azazel flicked a switch and Dean’s body was wracked with electrical pulses.

“And I don’t know how many times I have to remind you: it’s _Darth_ Azazel,” the Sith sneered. He bumped the intensity dial up a notch.

The son of a bitch laughed while Dean screamed. His demented yellow eyes glittered with delight and malice while Dean writhed. When the pulses stopped, Dean couldn’t help himself and gave another glib remark and Azazel, in turn, flicked the scorching needles back on.

Dean hurt all over when they kicked him back into his cell, he was pretty sure, late in the second day – maybe the third. It was too difficult to keep track, especially when he passed out from Azazel’s throat hold. Dean groaned and gingerly poked at his swollen lip with his tongue. He’d endured much worse before. Azazel was definitely taking his sweet time – he knew he had Dean trapped with no escape in sight, and he was going to savor it.

Even if he’d had worse, it still hurt like hell.

When Dean heard the door to his cell open, he stayed still, hoping the troops would think they’d accidentally killed him and leave him be for a little while. Instead, they shoved Bela in to join him. She stumbled to her knees with a grunt and he squinted at her before relief bloomed in his chest. She was holding her wrist and was sporting a black eye, but otherwise didn’t seem too worse for the wear.

“Bastards,” she sniped at the troops who retreated and sealed up the cell.

“Nice of you to join me,” Dean said, his voice scratchier than he’d have liked.

“Oh, darling,” Bela sighed, getting to her feet to cross the room only to kneel down before him. She reached out to ghost her hand over his bruised cheek. “What have they done to you?”

“Ah, you know,” Dean offered her a one-shouldered shrug, which made his chest hurt but he did it anyway. “The usual Imperial tell-us-stuff-or-we-beat-you jack-assery. Azazel. Though the electric torture device is new, and he _really_ likes it…”

She shook her head, her eyes raking over him. “Have you considered giving him what he wants?”

Dean chuckled. “Like hell. He’s going to kill me whether I give him anything or not.”

Bela pressed her lips together briefly. “I could – maybe if you told me…”

He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious for a moment. Were they trying to use her now?

“I just mean…” she trailed off with another sigh and raised her hand to gently wipe at his hairline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, really, but he’s not gonna to stop. He has me now. Nobody except you and Ree know where I am – there isn’t a rescue party, there isn’t a Plan B, there’s no escape route. I’m done.”

“You sound like you’re giving up,” Bela said and he glanced up at the sharpness in her tone.

“No,” he assured her. “I’m not done fighting – I never will be. I’m just telling you why giving that son of a bitch anything means absolute shit.”

A coughing fit made him double over and Bela rubbed his back. Her tenderness struck him, as did the utter pity in her eyes. And it scared him. Did he really look that bad? Was she genuinely that worried and upset over their situation? _His_ situation? That was unlike her.

When he’d recovered, before she had the chance to say anything, he nodded his chin at her and waved her off. “What’re they doing to you? Have you seen Ree?”

She sighed again and removed her hand from his back, sensing his defensiveness before he’d even said something insulting. “Yes – they had her knocked out cold in the cell they put me in. When she came to, she told me she’d been leaving the archives, took a wrong turn, and saw Gabriel talking to Azazel and the Imperials. She tried to come warn us, but they caught her before she had the chance.”

She settled with her back against the chilly stone wall, her shoulder nearly touching his. “They wanted to know information about the Rebels, of course, but they didn’t try very hard. Either they know that I don’t know anything new and useful, or they don’t care because they have you.”

Dean scrunched his brow. “Then why haven’t they killed you?”

“I really didn’t think it prudent to ask,” she replied, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered.

“Bela,” he growled.

She tilted her head back with another sigh. “There’s no point lying at this point, is there?” She tossed him an empty smile. “Lillith, darling. One of her bounty hunters – this blonde bitch I’ve had dealings with before. I imagine she’s going to have the greatest payday the Empire has ever seen, what with nabbing you for Azazel and me for Lillith.” She gave her head a shake. “We’re clearly in the wrong business.”

He chuckled a little and rubbed at his sore ribs. “No kidding.” Dean groaned.

She clicked her tongue, looking him over again. “Did you piss him off?”

“No more than usual.”

She shook her head. “You do have quite a way with people, don’t you?”

Minutes later, the troops dumped Ree into their cell as well. She was spotted with dark green and black bruises and had a nasty looking wound high on her forehead, but she assured them she was all right.

“You don’t look all right,” Dean observed with a worried frown as Ree settled down cross-legged on the floor beside him and Bela.

 _Neither do you,_ she countered.

Dean leaned his head back. “He’s been chasing me for years. This isn’t going to be over any time soon.”

The three of them were quiet for several moments before Ree asked, _Why’d they put us together?_

Before Dean or Bela voiced an answer, the cell door slid open again, and Gabriel strode in followed by his ever-present assistant as well as a handful of Imperial guards. Gabriel, Dean was pleased to note, had two bruised black eyes and looked sufficiently miserable.

“Well, if it isn’t my good pal Gabe,” Dean said acidly, struggling to his feet.

Gabriel’s frown deepened. “Look, I’m sorry – my hands were tied. I had to make a deal and unfortunately, they beat you here. I stalled as much as I could. I tried, but there wasn’t a way out of this.”

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t seem terribly grateful.” Bela stood as well, followed by Ree, whose green fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Gabriel’s eyes flicked to them and back to Dean. “Yeah, and this is only about to get oh-so-much worse before it gets better.” He winced and Dean’s stomach gave an uneasy twist. “I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn that your buddy Azazel keeps changing the terms we agreed upon – we’re now up to him handing Bela over to the bounty hunter, and Dean, he’s taking you with him.”

“No surprise there,” Dean mumbled.

 _What about me?_ asked Ree, clicking with worry.

“Currently, you’re allowed to stay here in Cloud City with me as long as you never leave, ever again.” Gabriel coughed uncomfortably and continued, “This is… after… he puts Dean in the carbon freeze chamber.” He glanced between them all with a nauseous sort of smile.

Bela swore, Ree let a series of furious squeaks and hisses fly, and Dean stared with wide, angry eyes. Carbon freezing was used for preserving inanimate objects. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure doing it on a living being would kill it.

“And you?” Dean burst out hotly. “You, what, stand by and watch?”

Gabriel’s jaw ticked. “I’m _sorry_ – ”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean growled, and lashed out at his former friend.

He was able to land a punch near the other man’s mouth before the guards were on him, hauling him away and brandishing their guns. One of them cracked him upside the head, and Dean dropped to his knees, blinking to clear his vision. Ree was in a similar position, on her knees with guns her face. Bela glared at Gabriel with fire and loathing. He rubbed his jaw where Dean had struck him and once again mumbled his pointless apologies.

“They’re here to take you and Bela while I take Ree,” he added glumly, gesturing to the Imperials in the cell. “I wish I could do more.”

The guards hauled Dean to his feet none-too-gently, and he sucked in his breath at the sharp ache in his ribs. They wrestled his arms behind his back and slapped a pair of cuffs onto his wrists. He shot Gabriel a dirty look.

“Yeah, you’re such a hero,” Dean spat.

The guards roughly led him out of the cell and into the adjoining hallway. The other Imperials followed, tugging along Bela, also in cuffs. Gabriel, his assistant, a couple more guards, and Ree trailed after them. Azazel was waiting for them with a wolfish smile that made Dean shiver. He raised his chin defiantly in front of the Sith.

“You ready?” the yellow-eyed man asked, eager and smug.

Half of his face was red and scarred. It was clear it had been badly burned recently and was still undergoing regular bacta treatments. It only made him all the more hideous to look at, especially up close.

Dean smirked. “You first. Azazel.” He emphasized the titleless name and didn’t miss the way Azazel’s eyes flashed furiously.

Gabriel split off, heading to the right, Ree in tow. Probably unable to see what was about to happen to his former friends. The freaking coward.

“Just a minute, Calrissian,” Azazel said, raising his gloved finger.

Gabriel stiffened and turned around slowly.

“Her too.” The Sith pointed at Ree.

Gabriel blinked. “Lord Azazel, the agreement was that she would stay here with me.”

“And now the agreement is that she comes with the other two shits to the chamber,” said Azazel.

Dean ground his teeth. The cuffs holding his hands behind his back weren’t conducive to slugging the Sith, nor was the presence of so many armed Imperials and troops around him. Dean was this close to trying anyways.

“Sir…” Gabriel began uneasily.

“We _are_ in agreement, aren’t we?” Azazel pressed, his voice turning flinty.

Gabriel’s hand jumped to his throat as if there’d been a sudden squeeze of pressure there. He gave his head a swift shake. “No, I mean, of course. She’s all yours.” He spread his arm out towards Ree and smiled, though it didn’t touch his eyes. The guards holding Ree marched her forward away from Gabriel.

“I thought so,” said Azazel, and spun on his heel, his black cape swirling out behind him. He started down the hall, and the Imperials gave Dean a shove, forcing him to follow, leaving Gabriel and his assistant behind.

 

~

 

Sam steered the X-Wing over and through the puffy clouds towards the gleaming, floating city in the sky. It was enormous and magnificent, nothing like anything Sam had ever seen before, and he couldn’t help the low noise of awe that escaped his lips. Seeing glimpses of it in a vision was thing; seeing it spread before him was something else entirely.

As he came closer to the city, he noticed it seemed oddly quiet – there were no ships buzzing around, and he couldn’t see people or aliens on any of the walkways and platforms. He furrowed his brow and his stomach twisted. Beyond his knowledge that Dean was in trouble, something else was wrong – shouldn’t a city like this be bustling? Where was everyone?

His bad feelings about the situation only intensified as he steered the X-Wing to land on an empty platform. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when he disembarked and made his way through the adjoining corridor. The halls were as still and empty as the platform. He gulped and snatched his blaster out of its holster.

It was strange to think that only a week ago Sam had only the most minimal knowledge of the Force. Now, thanks to Castiel, Sam could feel it in his bones, coursing in his blood, and if he took a moment to breathe and reach out, he could feel it pull him in the right direction. He knew he’d barely scratched the surface of what he could do, what a real Jedi could do, but he couldn’t help feeling amazed by how far he’d come in such a short time.

He darted from hallway to hallway, crossing large empty squares. Twice he saw screens mounted to maintenance hatches that were cheerily blinking the words “LOCKDOWN”.

 _That explains the lack of people,_ he thought as he rounded a corner and descended a wide set of stairs. The décor changed from pleasant and artsy with plenty of windows and white walls, to dark and industrial, with sliding transparisteel doorways. He saw signs for “Authorized Personnel Only” and the metal grate-like doors ahead parted when he neared.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the stairs behind him, and with his heart battering his chest, he darted forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #14
> 
> Jess: She and Sam were childhood friends, banging around Tatooine together and getting into trouble. When Sam was about 11, Jess was his “girlfriend” and his first kiss. It lasted until they were teenagers and they became just friends. They grew apart. Jess eventually left Tatooine and became just another person who Sam once cared about who left him behind. She went off to a Core World college with an undecided major and ended up marrying a guy from Corusaunt.


	28. Chapter 28

The carbon freeze chamber was a large room, full of pipes and tanks and control stations. Orange light filtered through the metal grates on the floor, giving the room an eerie amber glow. A set of stairs led to a raised walkway ringing the room. A few figures stood at intervals on the walkway, cast in shadow, watching the proceedings below.

Azazel and his Imperials hauled Dean, Bela, and Ree past columns of steam to the center of the room and a hydraulic platform set inside a round pit. Dean’s heart slammed against his ribs. He knew there was a chance he could survive this, but he had no idea how big that chance was. He tried not to panic. It wasn’t his style, and even if this was truly it and he was done, he wasn’t going to feed into Azazel’s hand.

As the Imperials shoved the three prisoners into a neat line, however, something must’ve shown on Dean’s face, because Azazel’s lips curled up into a sinister, triumphant smile. Dean forced a smirk onto his own features, though he couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders.

 _This is it, isn’t it…_ Dean’s eyes were drawn to the hydraulic platform that rose from the bottom of the pit. His mouth went dry, his skin rippled with chills, and he was too aware of the blood roaring in his ears. He flicked his gaze around the room, desperate for an escape route, but there were too many Imperials, troops, and guards. Not to mention Azazel and that arrogant-looking blonde behind him who was idly twirling a long, jagged-bladed knife. She seemed bored by the whole event.

“You know,” Azazel said thoughtfully. “I’d sure hate to cut short our playtime by accidentally killing you here and now, Dean.”

“Yeah, that’d be a real shame,” Dean bit out. He hauled his focus away from the pit and put it on Azazel.

“If only we had a way to test the carbon freeze process without damaging you permanently.” The Sith tossed a lazy look to the blonde, who shrugged.

“Dead or alive was fine by Lillith,” she stated.

Bela let out an irritated huff beside Dean and muttered something very unladylike.

“Just to be safe then.” Azazel’s grin was nasty and feral – he was eating up every single second of this – and Dean felt sick to his stomach.

Azazel gestured to his troops. “Put the space bitch in.”

“No!” Dean shouted as several troopers stepped forward to grab Bela.

Ree let out a screech, Bela cursed, and when Dean darted towards her, he received the butt of a gun to his head for his trouble, sending him to his knees. He blinked the sparks out of his eyes and struggled to his feet.

“Azazel, you bastard!” he bellowed, struggling against the troops holding his bound arms.

“Tut tut – language, Winchester,” the Sith admonished with a waggle of his finger.

“Just…” Dean gave his head a shake. Behind his back, he curled his quivering hands into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. They were utterly fucked, and Bela was about to die, and…

“Let me say goodbye,” Bela said breathily. The troops holding her on the platform glanced at Azazel for confirmation. Dean looked to her in surprise.

Azazel, for his part, also seemed surprised, and so smug and amused by the situation, that he waved his hand and the troopers released Bela and Dean. Dean hurried forward to meet her halfway, though he had no clue what the hell to say. He opened his mouth to speak and a thousand words jammed up his throat.

_Damn it, this can’t be it. Damn it, damn it…_

Bela’s lips tilted into her signature half-smirk, though Dean could see exactly how scared she really was. Instead of saying anything at all, she leaned forward to kiss him ardently. He kissed her back, hard and desperate, even though it hurt his bruised lips.

Unlike those times over the years where he worried he might never see her again, now he _knew_. This was the end and this really was going to be the last time he’d ever see her, touch her, taste her. Even if she survived the carbon freeze process, she’d be shipped off with the blonde bounty hunter. He, meanwhile, would be dragged off to the Death Star one way or another for Azazel to finish him off.

Bela pressed her body closer to Dean and he tried to memorize the way her lips moved against his…

The troops yanked her away all too soon, severing their contact. Bela’s eyes glistened with unshed tears and he hated the panic that flashed across her features.

“Well, hell,” Azazel let out a bark of laughter. “If I’d have known I had _that_ kind of a bargaining chip on my hands…”

Dean felt a flash of pure hatred boil in his chest but he didn’t take his eyes off Bela as the troops positioned her on the platform. A few Imperials came forward to tug him back in line with a shivering, clicking Ree.

“Ree, take care of him,” Bela blurted, her voice trembling.

Ree squeaked pitifully beside him. He couldn’t help a chuckle, even if it was a sad one.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” he said, trying to sound casual and cocky, like everything was normal. Like maybe he could piss her off and she’d insult him back and they’d escape and everything would be fine. Like Azazel wasn’t gleefully watching them and sending them to their deaths.

Men jabbed at screens and buttons on the control towers by the pit. The pipes overhead began to hiss and groan. Dean swallowed against his paper dry throat and his stomach churned.

“Sure you can, darling,” Bela returned, her eyes were brimming with tears.

This couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be how they died after everything they’d been through. All the back and forth and close calls and impossible odds…

Dean flicked his eyes around the room, but nothing had changed. He was still bound, weaponless, helpless, completely outnumbered.

“For the love of God,” the blonde groaned. “I actually have somewhere to be, so if we could hurry this up?”

“Keep your shirt on, Ruby,” Azazel chuckled, yellow eyes glinting with pure delight, and gestured to the men at the controls.

“Dean,” said Bela, her voice quivering, and he snapped his attention back on her. She couldn’t seem to find the words she wanted or maybe she couldn’t get them past her lips. He knew the feeling and blinked against the sudden sting in his own eyes.

The platform whined and slowly descended. Dean felt like the breath had been knocked from his chest as he watched Bela being lowered into the carbon freeze pit.

“I do care,” she burst out when she was nearly halfway down. “Dean, I-I’m so sorry I…”

He knew she could never bring herself to say _love_ – he couldn’t either, even now. Knew that this was the last thing he’d hear her say. Knew she’d cared all along, even if she hadn’t realized it herself.

So he cracked a sad little smile and he sucked in a breath. Really, if they were both about to die, there was no point lying or being an ass. He held her gaze as he huskily replied, “I know.”

He had one last glimpse of Bela’s frightened, strong, beautiful, face –

And then all hell broke loose.

A round of blasterfire had Dean ducking and throwing his shoulder into Ree, knocking her to the floor on instinct. He couldn’t tell which direction the bolts came from, and for a confused second, the Imperials didn’t seem to know either. They got their weapons out and were firing back, Azazel was whirling, Ruby the bounty hunter brandished her deadly knife in one hand and a sleek blaster in the other. There were more rounds of blasterfire, then Dean spotted a column of blue light flashing through the air and his heart walloped into his throat.

 _Sam!_ Dean grinned and, for a moment, felt only overwhelming relief.

He and Ree dove behind a row of barrels as the Imperials focused their attention on Sam, even as more lasers cut through the air from every angle. The kid’s lightsaber was a brilliant whirl of light, slashing and twisting, deflecting every bolt aimed his way. Azazel bellowed in the din and gestured angrily.

Ree rolled to a fallen trooper and used her long fingers to delve into the guy’s utility belt for something to undo her binders. Dean worriedly looked for Bela, but couldn’t see her through all the smoke, steam, and laser fire.

Ree freed herself and quickly unlocked Dean’s cuffs. They both scrambled for weapons from the dead troopers before jumping to their feet.

“Get Bela!” Dean yelled. Ree took off with a quick nod.

He darted behind one of the control towers and started picking off as many of the troopers as he could. He’d lost track of Azazel in the firefight and frowned, scanning the chaos for the Sith. Suddenly, he felt a sharp, incredible pressure on his throat, cutting off his air. His fingers scrabbled at his neck, though he already knew he’d find nothing physical there. He was dragged backwards by some invisible force and spun around when it released him.

Azazel was a few feet away, emerging from the smoke, arm outstretched. His scarred features were furious, his lips curled in an ugly sneer. The terrible pressure seized Dean by the throat again and he felt his body rise in the air until his boots left the floor. Black spots swam in his vision and Azazel’s fingers curled slowly inwards. The Sith bared his teeth.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he growled, his voice soaked with hatred.

Dean gurgled, his fingers scratching uselessly at his own neck. His head was spinning, lungs burning…

Sam and his brilliant blue lightsaber came spinning out of nowhere, right between Azazel and Dean. Azazel hissed and narrowly missed having his arm chopped off as he jumped backwards and reached for a weapon of his own. Dean dropped to the ground, the impact sending a shock of pain through his sore ribs. He gasped and gulped oxygen.

Azazel’s red lightsaber clashed against Sam’s with a loud crackle just in time for the Sith to avoid being sliced in two. He swung it back and forth in a flurry of movement, trying to get past Sam, who matched him blow for blow.

“Who the hell – ?!” Azazel growled.

“Go!” Sam shouted over his shoulder at Dean. “Get out of here – get to the ship!”

Dean was inclined to argue, not wanting to leave Sam on his own. Seeing as how there were no Imperials left standing in the chamber except Azazel however, he figured Sam and whoever had shown up to help him in the melee must have it under control. He couldn’t see Ree or Bela anywhere.

As he snatched up a blaster and got out of the way of the battling men, he couldn’t help hesitating. Sam had just saved his skin; he couldn’t leave him behind.

“Dean, go!” Sam hollered again, and spun to avoid a slicing attack from Azazel. The Sith snarled in frustration. “Get out of the city – I’ve got my own ship, I’ll follow you! _Go!_ ”

Dean frowned, not liking this one bit, but feeling he had no other choice, he ran from the chamber.

 

~

 

Castiel was pushing the ship to its limit, he knew, but he couldn’t back off the throttle. He was already far behind Sam and desperate to catch up with him. Why hadn’t he left with Sam in the first place? How could he have been so stupid as to let him go off alone?

 _Fool_ , he thought, angry with himself for being clouded. _Sam and Dean will both die and it will be your fault_.

Of course he’d had his reasons. He’d been so sure that Dagobah was where they were meant to be. Yet the visions of Dean persisted after Sam left, and Castiel could not ignore them any longer. The Force was trying to tell him something and he had not listened. He was meant to be in Cloud City now, he realized, and he prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

His eyes flicked to the navigation charts of his small ship. He frowned and urged the ship to go faster.

 

~

 

Bela ditched the binders that had held her prisoner. She ran, hot on Ree’s heels, as they sprinted down corridors away from the carbon freeze chamber. She could hardly believe just how close she’d come to being encased and the thought sent another wave of nausea rolling through her stomach.

 _Too close,_ she thought. Aloud to Ree, she demanded, “What now?”

 _We get to the ship,_ Ree answered in a series of clicks and clacks over her shoulder. _Dean’ll catch up, don’t worry._

“I’m not worried,” replied Bela. Even though she absolutely _was_ worried. She shoved the feeling away – there was a good chance her and Ree’s escape from the chamber had not gone unnoticed. She didn’t have time to devote to anything but getting out of danger.

Bela glanced over shoulder and didn’t see any pursuing troops and Imperials, but that hardly meant they were in the clear. After all –

Blasterfire sounded, Ree shrieked, Bela dropped to the ground and rolled behind a pillar for cover. She reached for her own blaster instinctively, only to find her holster empty and cursed the Imperials for leaving her weaponless. Her anger evaporated when she realized Ree was down and unmoving.

“Ree?” Bela reached for her friend, heart in her throat.

Ree stirred and groaned. Another blaster shot sizzled by, scorching Bela’s sleeve. She pulled her arm back behind the pillar.

“Shit!” Bela pressed her back to the column and tried peer over her shoulder around it. She barely had time to glimpse Ruby Fett before the bounty hunter was on top of her.

Bela wasn’t the type to run from a fight – well, a fight she could _win_ , that is – but her gun, her knives, her backup gun and her backup knives were all missing from her person. She had nothing to fight the bitch with, and more importantly, Bela wanted to draw her away from Ree. So she took off as fast she as she could. Which, as it turned out, was not nearly fast enough.

Ruby crashed into Bela’s back, and the two women went sprawling. Bela rolled onto her back and made it to her feet, but Ruby had her blaster up and aimed.

“Don’t move, Talbot,” the blonde spat. “Lillith didn’t – ”

“Specify dead or alive, I know,” Bela retorted testily. “You bounty hunters need a new line.” She kicked, knocking the blaster out of Ruby’s hand.

The blaster fired a shot that left a big scorch in the floor, but at least it wasn’t a new hole in Bela. They both dove for the gun. Bela managed to get a finger on the hilt before Ruby grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her backwards. The bounty hunter pulled again, seeming to change tactics – if she couldn’t have the gun, neither of them could. She slammed Bela’s head against the floor. Her vision flashed white. Ruby reached for the dagger on her belt.

Bela dug her nails into Ruby’s hand as hard as she could. The blonde hissed and stumbled – when had the bitch gotten to her feet? – and her grip loosened enough that Bela could twist away. She popped to a standing position just in time to take Ruby’s fist in her face. Bela reeled back with a gasp, pain exploding along her jaw.

Ruby didn’t give Bela the chance to recover. She lashed out again, this time with that damned precious dagger. Bela ungracefully veered out of the way, coming up to take a swing of her own. She narrowly avoided the jagged blade. Ruby slashed again, catching Bela’s arm enough to leave a shallow slice. Bela lurched back out of Ruby’s reach, clutching her bleeding arm.

“C’mon Talbot,” said the blonde. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Oh, right, sorry, I’ll just come along to be flayed by Lillith then, shall I?” Bela said waspishly.

Ruby smirked. “I’m not the coward who blew a job and ran. You had this coming the moment you put the pedal to the metal.”

“It was actually a _tad_ more complicated than that.”

“I don’t care what it was.” Ruby gave her knife a deft twirl. “I just want my money.”

“Yes, well, over my dead body, darling.”

“That _is_ the idea.” Ruby lunged.

Bela dodged and whirled on her heel to strike Ruby in the back. The bounty hunter grunted and slashed with her knife. Bela caught her forearm and threw a fist at Ruby’s throat. Ruby gasped for breath and brought her elbow up to Bela’s chin as they wrestled for the knife. Bela pried at Ruby’s fingers on the hilt and tried to stamp on her feet. After a few confused seconds, Bela managed a fleeting grip on the dagger before it was knocked away, skittering across the floor, out of reach.

Bela wanted to go after it, but Ruby had other plans. She slammed her arm against Bela’s chest and shoved her until she was backed against a wall. Bela kicked, she punched, she managed to make Ruby’s lip bleed. As quick as Bela was, however, Ruby was just as quick. Bela tasted blood as it trailed from her nose to her mouth. She was going to have bruises aplenty later from the blows Ruby was landing, adding to the ones the Imperials had bestowed.

Bela spun to avoid a high kick. She caught another one of Ruby’s deadly fists, this time square in the temple. Bela crumpled with a grunt and Ruby seized her in a headlock.

“Come _on,_ ” Ruby grit out, dragging a kicking, squirming Bela.

“Let go, you bitch,” Bela wheezed. She threw an elbow into Ruby’s gut.

The bounty hunter made an _oof_ sound and Bela hit her again, hard. Trying to avoid a third blow, Ruby twisted, her legs tangling in Bela’s, and the pair crashed to the floor.


	29. Chapter 29

Sam’s world had narrowed to a tiny, impossible window. He swung his lightsaber this way and that, spun and shifted, every nerve, every sense completely focused on matching Azazel’s every blow. He could feel the Force flowing in his veins, could feel the waves of darkness and fury coursing out of the Sith.

Azazel was strong – incredibly strong – and the longer they battled, the more Sam could feel himself draining. He fought off a flutter of worry whispering his impending loss. He was only matching Azazel, after all – countering and meeting his attacks – not overriding them or getting any offensive blows of his own in.

They’d moved from the carbon freeze chamber, through doorways and hallways and were now in a darkened, empty reactor room. A massive glass window lined the far wall, giving an expansive view of the reactor shaft.

Sam shifted his stance to meet a fresh flurry of attacks from Azazel. He felt another shudder of worry. His arms were burned with effort. It would only take a miniscule lapse in concentration for the Sith to end him.

Azazel spun away, cape flaring. He backed several feet from Sam, who stood still, startled by the strange movement but glad for the brief respite.

“The Force is strong with you,” Azazel said thoughtfully, catching his breath. His scarred features were crinkled with surprise and confusion. He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

Sam smiled and readjusted his grip on his lightsaber. “Sam,” he replied. His identity was his trump card and he wasn’t ready to play it yet.

Azazel waited a beat for a last name to come, and when it didn’t, his lip curled in a sneer. “Hell, I don’t really care. You know, as fun as this little interlude has been…” He lowered his lightsaber, but didn’t advance on Sam.

Sam’s brow crinkled. _What is he doing_?

Something hard and metal crashed into Sam’s back. He whirled to attack it and found another chunk of machinery flying at him. He tried to dodge it and was hit by a massive piece of pipe. Azazel was using the Force to dislodge as many objects and pieces of machinery as he could.

Sam tried to defend himself – tried to push back with the Force, tried to slice the objects with his lightsaber. There was too many and he was exhausted. He struggled and was hit, over and over. Pain exploded in his back, his head, his leg, his arm –

Just in time, he caught a glimpse of a column of red flashing towards him in the metal chaos. Sam lashed out wildly to counter Azazel’s strike, and their lightsabers smashed and sizzled. The Sith’s smile was feral as he struck, again and again, jarring Sam’s bones with the impact. Sam whirled.

His back was to the huge window when Azazel sent a huge column of metal flying at him. He swung his lightsaber to deflect it, catching its edge in a shower of sparks. It smashed the window and a harsh wind rushed into the room. Sam felt his feet slide towards the shattered window, and before he could react, a console shot straight at him. It crashed into his shoulder and sent him falling over the ledge.

 

~

 

Dean ducked around a corner, firing haphazard shots at the handful of troopers who’d chased him. He smirked when he saw a trooper fall with a smoking hole in his chest, the body tripping up the others.

Dean took off down another white hallway, trying to find his way out. Everything looked the same! He was taking too long in getting to his ship. He spit out a dozen curses and glanced back at the pursuing troops. Then he slammed full on into another running body and yelped as the impact sent him sprawling, his head smacking on the shiny floor.

“The _hell_!” he shouted, picking himself up and cradling his throbbing ribs.

Gabriel sat up from his position on the floor, rubbing his own head and moaning. “Ow, watch where you’re going, will ya? I already have two black – ”

Dean didn’t let him finish. He was on his former friend in a second, hand around his throat, blaster shoved to his temple.

“You son of a bitch!” he bellowed.

Gabriel threw up his hands defensively. “Whoa whoa whoa – wait! Dean!” he protested squeakily, choking as Dean pressed harder on his windpipe. “I had no choice!”

“Neither do I,” Dean growled, finger twitching on his blaster. He was gonna kill him, he was going to absolutely _kill_ him for this.

“W-w-wait! I fixed it!” he wheezed. “I’m fixing it, bro! Listen!”

Dean clamped his teeth together – he didn’t have time for this and he didn’t want to freaking listen, he wanted to get the hell out of here! It must’ve been his history with Gabriel that made him do it, but he loosened his grip slightly.

“What?” he barked.

“I saw the kid,” Gabriel explained as fast as he could get the words out. “The place is locked down and I saw the kid going for the chamber, and my damn Imperial shadow was gone, so I had a chance and I took it. I sent some guns in after the kid, Dean, I got my staff to – ”

“Why should I believe you?” Dean rumbled, giving Gabriel a shove that had him gagging.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” the other man replied shrilly.

Dean frowned. There _had_ been a lot of blasterfire and not all of it from the troops. It’d been difficult to discern in the chaos, with all the machines and tanks, steam and smoke, but now that he thought about it, not all of those bodies running around had been Imperial clad, trooper or otherwise.

“And your ship,” Gabriel continued breathlessly. “My people have it fixed – good as new – and the bad guys tried to sabotage the hyperdrive, but when shit hit the fan, I got a message out. It’s a hundred percent now, I swear – you can get out of here clean!”

Dean wanted to believe him, but he kept picturing the moment when he’d seen Azazel in that dining room. He still ached from all the shit the Sith had put him through. He was loath to trust Gabriel, even for a second.

“Why the hell should I – ”

“Behind you!” Gabriel shouted, pointing over Dean’s shoulder.

Dean whirled and shot down an approaching trooper before the soldier could get a shot off. Dean jumped to his feet, hauling Gabriel to a standing position as well.

“Now?” Gabriel asked hopefully.

Dean gave him another shove, releasing his grip. “If you’re lying, I’m not gonna hesitate to pull the damn trigger.”

Gabriel rubbed at his neck, purple and red where Dean had grabbed him. “I’m not. Now do you want to get out of here or what?”

Dean pushed Gabriel into a doorway as a round of blasterfire peppered the air by their heads. Dean leaned out to fire back at the troopers jamming the corridor, and Gabriel crossed the empty plaza at their backs to the control station embedded in the wall.

“What are you doing?” Dean yelled.

The other man ignored him, punching buttons until a slim intercom microphone protruded from the panel. Gabriel snatched it up and spoke calmly into. His voice came out amplified, echoing off the walls amongst the laser fire.

“Attention everyone, this is Gabriel Calrissian, the owner and handsome maintainer of this fine city,” said Gabriel smoothly, tossing Dean a wink. “The lockdown is hereby lifted and I advise everyone to evacuate immediately – as in right this second if not sooner. The Empire’s come to town and they ain’t leavin’, ladies and gents and others. There’s no telling what they’ll do, so get out, like, now. Have a fantastic day.”

He replaced the intercom in the panel and punched several more buttons until red emergency lights came on at regular intervals down the halls, followed by a whining alarm.

“That should do it,” he announced, joining Dean by the doorway. “You coming?”

Dean downed another trooper and glared at Gabriel balefully.

“Right sorry,” he waved his hands defensively at Dean. “Saving our lives, I get it.”

Within seconds, people swarmed the corridors, screaming and panicking, running with armloads of goods and bags, obscuring the troopers from view. The troopers’ shots stopped. It seemed, for now, that they weren’t up for killing civilians.

“Time to go, Winchester,” Gabriel said with a wide grin.

Dean didn’t return it but he took off after his former friend, who led the way to where Baby was docked. His stomach churned. Where were Bela and Ree? With any luck, they were already at the _Impala_ impatiently waiting for him.

He barked at Gabriel to run faster and together they dodged and wove through the increasingly thick stream of people trying to escape the doomed city.

 

~

 

“Estimated time of arrival?” the Emperor inquired of the lieutenant standing near.

“Less than ten minutes, my lord,” the man answered.

Lucifer turned his attention back to the viewscreen as his cruiser leisurely cut through the atmosphere. He was eager to have this whole mess over and done with. He hated being summoned almost as much as he hated insubordination. And Quer’tik wine. God, that stuff was shit.

But he supposed if this really was it, and Azazel had Winchester in hand once and for all, then the trip would be worth it. Though Lucifer would make certain that such a request – the Emperor coming to the side of his _apprentice_ – was never made again. It looked pretty bad and was only going to look worse if ‘Zaze had screwed up yet again.

Truth be told, he hadn’t forseen this in his visions. He saw the Rebels burning, however, and that was enough for now. He allowed a small smile, recalling the image with a sense of blossoming triumph. _Soon_. This would simply be the first step – or rather, the last. The nail in the coffin. The straw on the camel. Whatever metaphor you wanted.

Lucifer clasped his hands together. He could see why people admired this place; this city in the clouds really was quite beautiful.

 

~

 

Bela was bloody, bruised, exhausted, and worst of all, losing.

The pair wrestled and fought, dodged and attacked, ran and fell. She didn’t think much progress had been made aside from the fact that she was still alive. And these however-many-minutes were climbing her list of Worst Moments Ever (quite an accomplishment, really). That was until Ruby dragged her by the ankle around another corner and Bela realized the ship on the landing platform just outside the door was Ruby’s _Slave I._

“For the… last time…” Bela panted, kicking out to force Ruby to release her ankle. She struggled to shake the fog from her head wounds. “I’m not… going… with you.”

The bounty hunter swiped the blood from her eyes. “I got you… this far… I can manage… the rest.”

Bela grated, “Go to hell.”

Ruby’s grin was stained red. “After you.”

When she lunged, Bela was ready. She brought her legs up to hit Ruby square in the stomach, tossing her to the side and knocking the wind out of her. Bela launched to her feet as the bounty hunter gasped for air. She ran forward, grabbed at Ruby’s collar and dragged her through the doorway towards the edge of the landing platform. Wind tickled her bloody, sweaty skin.

Ruby’s hands clamped around Bela’s wrist. She dug her nails in hard. Bela cried out and her grip tightened despite the pain. Ruby twisted, kicking. Her boot crashed into the back of Bela’s leg, making it buckle. She landed on one knee and it was the window Ruby needed to regain the upper hand.

She wrenched out of Bela’s grip and clocked her in the face. Bela saw stars and fell backwards, her back slamming to the ground, her head on the edge of the platform. Ruby grinned again, triumphant, and straddled Bela, pinning her.

“I’ve been… looking forward to… taking you down for so long,” she said between breaths. “Cocky… selfish… bitch…” She moved her banged up hands to Bela’s throat.

Bela thoroughly hated that this was going to be the last thing she saw.

There was a sudden clatter and something cold bumped against Bela’s hand. Ruby glanced down, Bela’s fingers closed around the object, and they both realized it was the dagger. The blonde’s eyes went wide and she released Bela to go for the knife, but too late. Bela brought the dagger up hard. Ruby jolted away so Bela missed her neck but sank the blade deep into the bounty hunter’s shoulder instead. Ruby screamed.

As Ruby leaned away and tried to grab at the blade buried in her skin, Bela kicked her legs up. Her knees connected with the other woman’s back. It wasn’t much of a hit, but it was enough to set Ruby off balance, hands splaying out to avoid falling off the edge. Bela rolled out from under her, swivelled –

“Right back atcha,” she said, and shot out her legs, connecting with the bounty hunter’s side.

Ruby’s scream pierced the air above the blaring alarms as she tumbled over the side of the landing platform. It was cut short a second later and Bela winced. Shaking, she looked up to see who had thrown her the dagger and saw Ree, unsteadily hobbling forward.

“Ree!” Bela exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes.

Ree had one hand pressed to her scorched stomach and was pale, wobbly, and sweaty as she limped towards Bela. Ree was perhaps the only real friend she’d ever had and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

 _So you’re not dead_ , Ree clicked wearily. _That’s good. Sorry I got shot._

Those were Ree’s words on their second outing together and Bela had realized someone actually cared whether she lived or died. They were the words she’d said to Ree years later on Mon Gazza after they’d been separated and Bela stranded. It became their ‘thing’ and Bela could not have been more relieved in that moment to hear those words.

She climbed to her feet and let the tears fall down her face. She hurt all over and Ree was clearly worse for wear as well, but Bela threw her arms around her green co-pilot and laughed.

 _She seriously did a number on you_. Ree’s squeaks were a tired murmur. _I think this is like the second time I’ve ever seen you cry_.

Bela pulled back, wiping her arm on her filthy sleeve with a chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_That moisture on your face right now? It’s called crying. It happens when you’re emotional. Means you genuinely care about something._

Bela gently swatted Ree on the arm. “Oh, do shut up.”

_Don’t worry, I won’t tell._

Ree slid her arm around Bela’s back and together they gingerly picked their way down the corridor towards the adjacent landing platform and the _Impala._

 

~

 

Sam picked himself off the gantry below the window and ran for the control room doorway, glancing over his shoulder for the Sith. He had no idea how the hell Azazel got there so fast, but when Sam turned back, Azazel had cut off his exit to the control room, forcing the younger man farther out onto the gantry catwalk.

The Sith’s long black cape swirled with the wind and his yellow eyes glinted. Sam swung his lightsaber in a series of desperate attacks and could tell with each buzz and snap of their weapons that he was thoroughly outmatched – this was bad, this was worse than bad. He was getting backed into a corner and he was so very, very screwed.

“You can’t win this, Sam,” Azazel sneered, sensing Sam’s panic. Their lightsabers briefly touched the railing on his left, showering them in sparks. Azazel grunted and forced Sam further backwards. “You fought well, kid, I’ll give you credit for that. But it’s over now. You’re done.” He poured more energy into his blows and advanced.

Sam fumbled, narrowly avoiding the sizzling column of red. He was slick with sweat, his breathing heavy, heart slamming against his ribs. _This can’t be over_ , he thought. With a wordless shout, he swung his own lightsaber harder, faster, with both hands. He felt blind with desperation, the Force ebbing away as he continued to lose focus, letting fear and anger flow into his chest.

Azazel’s grin grew wider and more sinister. “That’s it, kiddo. That’s it.”

At once, Sam realized what was happening and heard Castiel’s warnings in his head about the Dark Side. With a gasp, he stepped back until he was pressed against an instrument complex at end of the catwalk. He only had a half second to take another gulp of oxygen in the windy reactor shaft before Azazel surged forward. Sam’s clumsy defensive maneuver failed to stop the red column of humming light.

Sharp, hot pain seared in Sam’s shoulder and he dropped to his knees with a cry. He barely kept a grip on his lightsaber as Azazel stepped back. Sam could smell burnt flesh and though he couldn’t clearly see what the Sith had done to him, he could certainly _feel_ it. Sam’s shaking fingers deactivated his lightsaber – he couldn’t hold it up anymore anyways – as he tried to breathe and focus on the man with the yellow eyes, instead of the agony radiating from his shoulder.

Azazel raised his lightsaber poised to finish Sam off. Instead of bringing it down, he hesitated. He cocked his head thoughtfully and remarked, “You know, you’re strong as hell. I haven’t seen anything like it in a very long time. It’s impressive. Annoying, but impressive.” He too deactivated his lightsaber.

Sam blinked at the sweat in his eyes, struggling to breathe through the blistering pain. He needed to get away, he had to get away somehow, maybe if he climbed out to the extreme end of the scaffolding, and _oh God his shoulder_ – he could barely think. He edged backwards and shoved his lightsaber into his belt with his left hand. His right felt tingly and numb and slow – he wasn’t going to be able to fight back anymore even if he wanted to.

“The Force is strong with you, Sam,” Azazel continued. “But I still could kill you right here and now. Or, I could make you a little deal.”

“W-what?” Sam asked, his lips trembling. He couldn’t fathom why, but Azazel was letting him crawl out of reach. Sam wasn’t going to put much thought in it – instead he worked on not falling as he inched along the narrow metal support beam beneath his knees.

“With a little training, you could go far. I mean, I don’t want to blow your skills out of proportion here, considering how thoroughly I just whooped your ass, but I’m talking my apprentice, far. Successor, far.” Azazel shrugged. “Who knows, right?”

“I’ve already had my training.” Sam did not look down, he was not going to look down, he –

He fought off a wave of nausea at the sight of the massive, open shaft stretching into oblivion. He nearly slipped off the gantry, which had narrowed to barely a foot. He curled his arm around the instrument complex at the beam’s end. There was absolutely nowhere else to go.

“Sure you have,” Azazel allowed. “But nothing like what I’d teach you. You were probably given all that airy fairy Light Side stuff, right? And all the adorable little warnings about the Dark Side?”

Sam didn’t reply. Just held on to the cool metal with his left arm and tried to stay upright. He couldn’t feel his right arm anymore. That was probably a really bad thing…

“Just think: if you and I were allies, what kind of team we’d be...” Azazel held out his hand as if calling Sam back to him. “Kid, with your strength, we’d be unstoppable. We could rule the damn galaxy.” He closed the hand in a fist and his dreadful eyes glittered.

Sam felt sick all over again, though whether from the pain or the view or the Sith’s words, he couldn’t tell. “I’ll never join you,” he spat with as much venom as he could muster.

Azazel dropped his hand with a huff. “You know, and that’s what I get for trying to be nice.”

Sam glanced down at the darkness below and back at the Sith who had reactivated his lightsaber. He knew in that moment that Castiel had been right. He hadn’t been ready. But Sam had also stopped the Sith from going after Dean, and if that’s all he managed to do, Sam still thought it was pretty damn worth it.

When he smiled at Azazel, the Sith’s brow crinkled. “What?”

“Just thought you should know who I am, after all this,” said Sam. Smiling hurt, but hell, everything hurt.

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m actually going to kill you now, so it _really_ doesn’t matter.”

Sam ignored him. “I’m the son of Mary Campbell and John Winchester.” He relished the way Azazel’s face registered confusion, disbelief, and shock in quick succession.

“That’s not possible,” the Sith mumbled.

“I’m the brother of Dean Winchester,” Sam continued.

“That’s not… fucking possible,” Azazel growled, and Sam could feel the waves of shock and fury pulsing out from the Sith. “I killed them – I – that is _not possible!_ “

Sam’s grin widened. “I am Sam Winchester, the last of the Jedi.”

And he let go of the gantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You have no idea how tempted I was to have that be "I'm Sam f***ing Winchester.")


	30. Chapter 30

When Dean saw Bela and Ree struggling down the landing platform to his ship, he found a burst of energy he didn’t know he still had in him. He ran to their side, leaving Gabriel to fend off the pack of troopers still dogging them.

“Bela!” he called, relief bleeding into his voice. His heart walloped against his ribs when he saw how bloody she was, though couldn’t discern how much of it was actually hers. “What the hell happened?” He ducked under her arm to take her weight onto him and off of Ree.

Bela groaned and winced. “Ruby happened, darling.”

Dean clenched his jaw against a wave of anger. “Where is she?”

 _Dead,_ Ree supplied happily.

Gabriel hurried up behind the battered trio, huffing and puffing and waving his blaster. “Okay, they pulled back for a minute, but if we could maybe hurry this escape up a little, because – ”

Ree was wounded, but not so much that she couldn’t inflict some serious damage. With Dean supporting Bela, Ree whirled at the sound of Gabriel’s voice and caught his throat in one of her large, long-fingered green hands, shoving him and nearly lifting him off the ground.

“Hey, hey! Okay, okay, I know!” Gabriel gagged and wheezed, trying to pry Ree off of his neck.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Bela sniped. “After what you pulled?”

“Do I… really have to explain… it again?” Gabriel struggled fruitlessly against Ree, who tightened her grip until he started to turn red.

“Shoot him and be done with it,” said Bela, scowling at Gabriel who whimpered and flailed an arm helplessly.

“He did kind of explain,” Dean sighed. “Kind of saved our lives back there. And he got Baby fixed up for us to leave.”

“So we let him live?” said Bela.

Dean shrugged. “Let’s get out of here first. Deal with his lying ass later.”

It was a testament to how beat up and exhausted Bela really was that she didn’t argue. She mumbled for Ree to hurry up, and Dean tried not to feel too surprised or worried at her lack of fight. Frankly, he wasn’t really sure why he was bothering to keep Gabriel alive at this point either, despite his claims of sending help and fully repairing the _Impala_ , neither of which he could currently verify.

Still, if Bela was down for the count, and judging by the hole in Ree’s side she might be as well once they got on board, Dean was going to need all the help he could get flying out of here. He could always knock Gabe out and shove him in a closet later if he needed to.

Gabriel had turned an alarming shade of purple by the time Dean nodded at the green alien.

“Ree,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Ree reluctantly released him and Gabriel tumbled to his knees gasping.

“Dear… God!” he huffed, his voice scratchy. “Enough… with the… goddamn choking!” He coughed and struggled to his feet, trailing after Ree who was quite nonplussed about his discomfort. “I have… a very sensitive windpipe!” At the look Dean gave him, Gabriel added hotly, “It’s sensitive because of _all the choking!_ ”

Dean smirked and led Bela up the loading ramp of the _Impala._ No sooner was he inside, when troopers arrived and opened fire on Gabriel and Ree limping behind him. Gabriel yelped and let off a few shots and Dean hastily slapped at the controls to close up the ramp.

“Ree!” Dean shouted, but the alien bustled past him towards the cockpit.

 _On it_ , she clicked over her shoulder.

He didn’t wait to see what Gabriel did with himself. Dean hurried as much as he could to the med bay with Bela in tow, ignoring her weak protests that she was perfectly all right.

“Like hell,” he murmured, laying her down gently on one of the cots.

She winced and moaned. “Oh God,” she hissed. “I’d kill her again.”

Dean tried not to smile because it wasn’t funny, not at all.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I’ll be back as soon as we’re home free. Just relax.”

The _Impala_ ’s engines hummed to life around him as he left Bela and hastened to the cockpit. Ree was in the co-pilot’s chair, her hands a blur over the console as she readied the ship for takeoff. Dean could see Stormtroopers gathering on the landing platform, guns firing at the ship’s hull. He pushed past Gabriel, who’d taken up residence in the navigation chair, and sat in the pilot’s seat.

“You’re not staying?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, _heeelll_ no,” said Gabriel, rubbing at his inflamed throat. “I ain’t sticking around here – not with Lord Yellow Eyes running the place and the icky Emperor of All Evil coming in for a landing.”

“What?” Dean spun in his chair, hoping to God he’d heard wrong.

“Chyeah, he called the Emperor when he bagged you! And you thought you were important _before_ , bub.” Gabriel poked at the bruises on his jaw and around his eyes. “Now I know what Ploomarian meat feels like… _Ow_.”

Dean swallowed and ignored the chills rocketing up and down his spine. Azazel was bad, but the Emperor was about a thousand times worse. Dean had never met him personally – probably be dead right now if he had – but he’d heard plenty of stories, and once, caught a glimpse of the bastard having a holochat with Azazel.

The sooner they got out of here, the better.

“Punch it!”

 

~

 

Sam fell. He felt weightless as the wind rushed in his ears and he plummeted in the shaft. For a heart stopping moment, he felt his body moving and thought Azazel was using the Force to bring him back up. He was being sucked into an exhaust port however, and could no longer see Azazel above him on the gantry.

Sam tumbled through the slick exhaust pipe, slipping and banging along the cold metal. As he came to a stop and caught his breath, he thought he might actually get out of this. Then the tube opened beneath him, and he caught a glimpse of sky before he was falling again.

Panic seized his chest and he lashed out, trying to grab anything to stop himself from plummeting thousands of miles down to Bespin’s toxic surface. By some miracle, he managed to crash onto a thin weather vane. As he slammed into the rickety metal, shocks of pain went through his body. He clung to the pole, dizzy and glancing up at the way he’d come, but the doors to the tube were out of reach and already groaning shut.

Sam looked down, regretting it instantly. There was nothing below him but clouds.

He scrunched his eyes shut and held tighter to the weather vane. But his right hand was weak and couldn’t grip the metal. His shoulder killed, and the metal was digging into the underside of his knees and his ankles where he’d hooked them in an effort to stay put.

 _Cas_ , he thought desperately. _I should have listened to you._

The wind whistled around him, tugging at his clothes. Sam shivered. He thought about Jo and how he was never going to see her again. He didn’t regret going to Dagobah as she’d advised, but he was sorry he’d never show her what he had learned.

 _At least Dean is safe_ , Sam thought, a pocket of relief blooming in his chest. _I can feel it._ His thoughts centered around his brother then and the short time they’d been together. Sam wished there had been more time…

_Dean, I’m sorry… I’m sorry I wasn’t better…_

Sam’s arm began to tremble and ache. He couldn’t stay like this for long – his position was precarious at best – and he was already spent from his battle with Azazel. He pressed his eyelids together tighter, trying to keep the tears at bay, his focus centering on his brother. Sam just wanted _something_ to hold onto before he died.

“Dean,” he murmured.

 

~

 

To say that Lucifer wasn’t happy was probably an understatement.

“The city is nearly empty,” said the Emperor, staring down at his once most trusted underling, his apprentice, Darth Azazel. “Not only was I promised a thriving new enterprise for the Empire, but I specifically recall you promising me that you had Winchester in your possession, once and for all.”

“I know. Of course. I mean yes, my master,” Azazel fumbled and groveled.

“I made a special trip, ‘Zaze. I came all the way out here, just for you.” Lucifer tilted his head. “Now how do you think it makes me look when I show up and you’re completely empty-handed?”

“My lord, there were unforeseen circumstances, I couldn’t have – ”

“You could have,” Lucifer cut in. “You didn’t.”

Azazel colored and dropped his gaze.

It was sad, really. Despite his apprentice’s rage issues, Lucifer had always like him. He made a tutting noise.

“Any last words?” he asked.

Azazel looked up, shock flashing in his yellow eyes. “M-my master?”

Lucifer raised his hand.

“Wait, my master, please!” the other man babbled. “I – Winchester! He has a brother! He was the one who came, who ruined everything, the little shit – ”

 _Interesting… but ultimately inconsequential._ The Emperor narrowed his eyes. “So, not only did you fail on multiple occasions to kill Winchester and bring me the Rebels, but over twenty years ago when you were to end the Winchester line, you didn’t even manage that.”

Azazel whimpered protests but Lucifer had seriously had enough.

“I had really high hopes for you too, ‘Zaze,” Lucifer sighed and made a fist.

The Sith apprentice turned red and gurgled in pain. He clapped his hands to the side of his head and his eyes bulged. He groaned and gasped.

“Strike three, Azazel,” said Lucifer. “You’re out.” Then he gave his wrist a flick.

The ensuing explosion was rather spectacular, if disgusting. Lucifer had made sure to stand well enough back, though some of Azazel’s brain matter still spattered his boots. The Emperor sniffed indifferently as the headless body of his apprentice tumbled to the ground.

Lucifer glanced up at the queasy-looking pair of officers near the doors. “Clean this shit up.”

 

~

 

As the _Impala_ pulled away from Cloud City, a peculiar feeling stole over Dean, like he was forgetting something. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what it was, but nothing came to mind.

 _Dean_ …

“What?” Dean glanced back at Gabriel, who shrugged.

“Hmm? I didn’t say anything.”

“I thought…” Dean returned his attention to the console and the feeling grew. Something was wrong, something was – he was suddenly certain he was going the wrong way. He tried to shake it off; he was leaving the city and that’s exactly what he needed to be doing.

 _Dean_ …

Then he realized it was _Sam’s_ voice. He had no idea how he could hear it or what the hell was going on, but he had to turn back. The feeling was tugging at his gut, constricting his chest. He had to go back for him, right now.

Dean wrenched on the controls and Ree and Gabriel protested immediately.

“Whoa, what the hell do you think you’re doing!”

 _Dean, no!_ Ree waved her hand and squeaked loudly. She hissed and clutched at her wounded stomach.

“I have to get Sam,” Dean told them, his voice hard. “I can’t leave him behind. I won’t.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Gabriel shouted. “You’re not going back there! We barely made it out the first time! And did I mention that the goddamn _Emperor_ is probably pulling up to the club right about this second?!”

 _Dean, we really can’t go back there,_ Ree clicked so fast he barely understood her. _Betrayal boy here is right_ –

“Hey!”

 _And besides, you have no idea where Sam even is_ –

“Yes I do,” Dean cut in. He could still hear Sam’s voice in his head, guiding him.

 _How?_ Ree demanded.

Dean shook his head. “I’m going to sound completely insane if I tell you, so let’s leave it as I just _do_.”

Gabriel huffed behind him. “Oh yeah, that’s super reassuring.”

Dean ignored him and pushed the _Impala_ ’s freshly repaired engines.

“What about the Imperial fighters that took off after us, genius?”

“We’ll take care of it. Now shut up,” Dean snapped.

Ree shot him a couple of worried looks, but she trusted him enough to follow his lead, and seconds later they were steering the _Impala_ under Cloud City’s belly. In the distance, a figure dangled below the city – barely hanging on.

“Holy crap,” Gabriel breathed.

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest. _I’m coming, Sammy, I’m here._

 _Three fighters incoming,_ Ree reported with a series of anxious squeaks.

Dean jumped out of his seat. “Take over and get under him,” he barked at Gabriel. “I’m gonna open the top hatch and bring him in. The second we’re clear, get us out of here.”

Ree nodded. Gabriel looked pale under his bruises as he climbed into the vacated pilot chair.

“How the hell do I get myself into these situations?” he muttered under his breath.

Once in the lift for the top hatch, Dean hooked on a safety line. In the event those Imperial bastards got in range before he was able to retrieve Sam, the last thing he wanted was to fall off the _Impala_. He clicked on the comm link to the cockpit.

“I’m heading out.”

The lift ascended and Dean turned his face up, impatiently waiting for the hatch to open. He was met with whipping wind, tugging at his clothes and ruffling his hair. Above him, hanging upside down on weather vane, was Sam, bloody and battered all to hell. Dean swallowed hard, his gut knotting.

“Sam!” he called. “I’m here!”

Dean stepped out of the _Impala_ and leaned down to yell into the comm, “A little higher – gently!” The ship eased up closer to Sam and the weather vane. Dean positioned himself and held out his arms.

“Sam, it’s Dean – do you hear me? I’m here – I’m right here.”

Sam moaned and Dean breathed a bit easier – he wasn’t dead yet.

“Let go, Sam,” Dean instructed, standing directly below his friend, heart hammering in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Blearily, Sam seemed to understand, and he released the weather vane. Sam was not small, and though Dean tried to absorb his weight and catch him, he pretty much took the brunt of his friend’s bulk. The pair landed in a heap, Dean underneath trying to shield the partially conscious man from landing too hard.

Dean smacked his head, winced, and coughed. His aching ribs flared, making him gasp, but he kept a grip on Sam, wrapping his arms around Sam’s chest and maneuvering him none-too-gracefully into the lift tube.

“Dean-o, hurry up!” Gabriel’s voice crackled over the comm. “The fighters are almost on top of us!”

Dean grunted and tugged, trying to hurry but be gentle – Sam was beat up and the scorched wound in his shoulder looked severely deep. The moment they were both in the lift, Dean slapped the button for the hatch to close.

“Go!” he hollered into the comm, and felt the engines rumble as Ree poured on the speed.

Dean blinked against the throbbing in his chest and supported Sam as best he could, keeping the kid more or less upright as the lift descended.

“You heard me,” Sam murmured, his body crumpled against Dean’s. “You came for me.”

Dean smiled a little. He didn’t know how, but he had. Maybe it was like back on Hoth, when he could’ve sworn he’d heard his name on the wind. Hell, maybe he was going crazy or had accidentally become psychic. He had no idea, but the important thing was he’d found him.

He helped Sam out of the lift. “Yeah, Sammy,” he said, cupping Sam’s bruised cheek. “I heard you.”

 

~

 

As Castiel moved through the corridors of Cloud City’s main complex, he could feel something was very wrong. The city was in full evacuation mode, with most of the inhabitants from the main core gone. Only a handful of people remained, still in the process of fleeing. The former Jedi’s stomach writhed and he gripped the hilt of his lightsaber tightly, ready to activate it at the first sign of a threat.

He reached out with the Force, searching for a sign of Sam. Had Cas arrived too late? Was Sam already dead? Had he not only failed his best friend but his Padawan as well? Castiel couldn’t be sure – everything was shrouded in darkness and it clung to his every movement. The former Jedi tried to shake off the ugly sensation, with little success.

Worse, he could feel the darkness growing. Something was at the center of this building, sucking up all light like a great, swirling vortex. Dread crawled across Castiel’s skin as he forged onwards. The middle of that vortex was exactly where he needed to be, he could feel it in bones – as much as he wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction.

As he entered the wide open plaza, it all suddenly made sense.

“Castiel,” greeted Emperor Lucifer, his tone pleasant and cool. “Nice of you to show up. I’ve been waiting.”

“Lucifer.”

“I saw this coming, you know. Saw you, big guy, and your trusty lightsaber, rushing in here to save the day.” Lucifer removed his hood and cocked his head to regard Cas like he was some pitiful animal. His once handsome face was marred and pitted with scars. “Did you know you’re hours too late?”

The former Jedi didn’t respond. He wasn’t about to be goaded into a fight with a Sith Master. He waited, patient as ever.

“Your buddies are all gone,” Lucifer mocked, making a pouting face for a moment before smiling coldly. “It’s just you and me, my brother, like it was always meant to be.”

Cas didn’t flinch, but he swallowed against the flare of fear in his gut. He’d faced off against Lucifer, years and years ago, long before he’d been the Emperor. Back then, he’d been a fellow Jedi, someone sworn to protect peace and innocence. Back then, he’d almost been a friend. But he’d fallen from grace, turned to the Dark Side, and risen to power. He, with his new apprentice Darth Azazel, had systematically slaughtered the Jedi.

He’d been a formidable fighter then. Castiel only dared to imagine what he was like now.

“Guess there’s no point in beating around the bush.” Lucifer activated his lightsaber, revealing a brilliant shaft of red light. “Shall we begin?”

Castiel took a slow, deep breath, marshalling his strength. If he could win here today, if he could end this, he could cut the head off the snake. He could effectively destroy the biggest source of power and leadership in the tyrannical Galactic Empire. He buried his doubts – he had no room for them if he was to do this. He flicked the switch on his own lightsaber, an equally brilliant green.

“After you,” Cas growled.

Lucifier smirked, then struck.

He was blindingly fast and Castiel barely got his lightsaber up in time to avoid getting sliced. He spun and parried the Emperor’s blows, reaching deep and far for the Force, breathing and focusing. He could feel it flowing in his veins, guiding his moves and he acted with instinct rather than thought, matching Lucifer blow for blow.

The pair moved about the room, their weapons mere streaks and blurs as they attacked and swung and whirled. Lucifer advanced hard, then abruptly backed off. Castiel gained some ground before Lucifer laid into him again, impossibly fast. The former Jedi realized that the Emperor was testing him, gauging his reactions, and Castiel changed his moves to throw him off balance.

In one swift motion, he twisted away, putting some distance between him and Lucifer. Castiel held up his hand. Lucifer staggered at the jolt through the Force but countered it instantly with a surge of his own. Cas felt the darkness push against him, close around him, and he shoved back, grinding his teeth. His feet began to slide on the floor. He focused and pushed harder.

Lucifer smiled and suddenly let go. Castiel fumbled at the unexpected lack of resistance and the Emperor was on him again. Cas rotated on his heel to avoid the red lightsaber, but it still caught him, leaving a shallow scorched cut across his leg. He hissed and Lucifer chuckled.

“You’re rusty, Castiel,” he taunted. “When was the last time you had a real opponent?”

He swung his lightsaber in a high arc and gave Castiel a mighty heave with the Force. It caught the former Jedi off guard and he went flying, his head cracking against a pillar. He blinked against the flash of white in his vision and brought his weapon up just in time to stop the column of red from cutting into his skull.

“I was always stronger than you,” Lucifer hissed, pressing his lightsaber down with all his might.

Castiel held steady. “You only believed you were,” he retorted through clenched teeth.

“Then show me how strong you are, Castiel,” Lucifer sneered. “Go ahead and try.” He curled his free hand into a fist.

Cas felt his windpipe constrict. He lashed out, rolling away and breaking the hold the Emperor was trying to put on him. Lucifer stayed where he was and the former Jedi questioned the brief respite. In the next moment, the pillars in the room began to tremble and shake. Castiel took a breath.

Lucifer raised his arms above his head and Castiel could sense the darkness ebbing and flowing in the room, curling around the pillars and breaking them apart from the inside. He realized what the Emperor was doing just before the columns exploded, sending chunks of plaster and marble in every direction.

Castiel ducked and used the Force to shield himself. Lucifer charged, his red lightsaber a terrifying blur. Cas fought off his attacks, pouring himself into keeping up with his opponent. He felt the change in the Force a half instant before the chunk of marble came sailing at him from behind. Cas dodged the object only to be bombarded with more.

He met the incoming red blur with his own green. He became liquid fire, slicing and spinning in the rhythm of the fight. He parried Lucifer’s lightning-fast lightsaber moves. He evaded hunks of marble. Then he missed one – it caught him in the side of his head, followed by another to his shoulder. By some miracle, he was able to stave off Lucifer even while blinking the blood and sparks from his eyes.

His arms began to quiver with effort. He was not as strong as he used to be, he was too out of practice, and Lucifer _had_ always been strong… As if he could sense the tendrils of defeat that were snaking around Castiel’s heart, Lucifer seemed to gain a fresh wave of energy. It only took a fraction of an instant –

The blade was scorching as it lanced through his gut. Pain ripped through his every nerve. Castiel gasped, the sound tearing from his soul. He crumbled to his knees, his body quivering in agony. Then there was a flash of light – his weapon was gone, clattering across the debris-strewn floor.

Lucifer’s low laughter cut through the haze as Castiel struggled to breathe.

“I knew I was always better than you,” he said, his voice lazy and cutting.

Cas raised his eyes to meet Lucifer’s malice-filled ones. He suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of triumph and peace wash over him, entirely at odds with his situation. And then he knew why.

Castiel smiled. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Lucifer crinkled his brow. “Um, killed another crappy Jedi? Got rid of an age-old pain in my ass? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know. Save the incoming morality lesson.”

“This is the beginning of the end, Lucifer,” Cas warned softly. He could see it; he could see it all… “Know that.”

“Mmhmm, whatever you say, pal.” The Emperor twirled his lightsaber and flicked the switch to deactivate it. He tucked it neatly in his belt. “And I just want _you_ to know that I am honestly going to enjoy this.”

He raised his hand. Castiel could feel a horrific dark pressure building in his skull but he didn’t close his eyes, didn’t tear them away from Lucifer. If only he knew, he wouldn’t continue. Castiel’s smile widened.

Lucifer clenched his hand into a tight fist.

The pressure was sharp, incredible, and overwhelming. Cas cried out involuntarily. It felt as though his skull was splitting open or it was trying to but couldn’t, and his whole body was shaking, every nerve screaming and every cell vibrating and ripping, his heart pounding, lungs and chest bursting, stomach roiling…

His vision blurred but he stared straight ahead. _The beginning of the end._ He had never known more peace than this moment…

Lucifer flicked his wrist, and Castiel knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it helps to know: I cried my eyes out when I wrote this. My muse made me do it and it still upsets me. :(


	31. Chapter 31

Thankfully, Gabriel was true to his word this time and he indeed did ensure that the _Impala_ was in far better shape leaving Cloud City than when she’d limped in. As Dean tended to Sam and Bela in the med bay, he felt the ship get buffeted by blasts from the pursuing TIE fighters. Luckily it wasn’t long before Gabriel and Ree sent the _Impala_ shooting into hyperspace, out of reach of the enemy ships.

Dean let out a breath of relief – it was good to feel Baby purring and healthy around him again. He returned his attention to Sam, who’d passed out almost as soon as Dean had laid him on the cot.

The kid was beaten to a pulp, bruised and bloody up all over, though the worst spot was the nasty slice in Sam’s shoulder. Dean cut the kid’s shirt away to get a better look and nearly threw up. The slash was deep, scorched down to the bone.

Dean wasn’t used to anything more than minor injuries and blaster wounds, but he patched Sam up as best as he could with the remaining bacta in the ship’s stores. He put Sam’s arm in cross-chest sling to take the weight off his bad shoulder, then moved on to cleaning and covering the kid’s more minor wounds.

“He looks rough,” Bela murmured sleepily. She was laying on the other cot across the room, fresh bacta and bandages scattered over her arms and face as well.

Dean frowned, glancing between her and Sam. “Yeah, you two are quite the pair right now.”

“Not my best look.”

He stood with a wince and crossed the small space. “No, not really.” Dean crouched down beside her cot, holding his arm around his tender ribs.

“Gee, thanks,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes.

He chuckled and ignored the urge to clasp her hand. Now that things were quiet, the moment in which he’d watched her being lowered into the carbon freeze pit kept replaying in his mind.

_I do care. Dean, I-I’m so sorry I…_

The words to talk to her about what she’d said burned in his throat and he swallowed them down, unable to voice them. It was better not to say anything at all. They’d already blown way past ‘complicated’ but he didn’t doubt he’d find a way to make things worse.

She was watching him with tired eyes, like she could guess he was teetering on the edge of saying something too personal that they’d both regret. Like she was afraid he’d call her out on what she’d said earlier. Like she was considering saying something too, and that scared _him_. He was already in so very dangerously deep with her all over again and clawing his way back out of this pit did not involve showing her his heart. Not now that they weren’t about to be executed.

He wished she’d say something nasty and condescending to put them back on solid ground.

He gave his head a shake and cleared his throat. He locked away the memory of her face in the chamber, and buried the feelings he had from seeing her lying there, banged up all to hell. He didn’t have time for these emotions (except he did and that was exactly the problem).

“We’re a while out,” he said when she yawned. “Sleep.”

Her lips curled up in a small, slight smile. He could tell she didn’t want to fall asleep and was fighting it.

“I’m fine,” she retorted out of habit even as she stifled another yawn.

Dean leveled his gaze at her. “Bela, you just fought for your life against a freakin’ bounty hunter and barely made it out. Sleep or I’ll make you sleep.”

“So bossy,” she drawled, letting her eyes slide shut.

“Damn straight,” he said with a chuckle.

He got up and shucked her boots off for her.

Eyes still closed, she murmured, “Hey. Don’t steal my boots. I’m too incapacitated to stop you.” Her tone was lazily annoyed, but her mouth twitched into a half-smile she was too tired to fight.

He rolled his eyes and unfolded a blanket from the cupboard over her bed, spreading it out over her bruised form.

“And stop taking care of me. I hate it.”

Dean smirked. “Liar.”

She gestured weakly, eyes still closed, in the direction of her boots. “Thief.”

He shook his head. “Go to sleep, woman.”

She muttered again, this time too inaudible to make out. Dean settled back down on the stool beside her cot. He stayed beside her until her breathing evened out. He was again tempted to hold her hand and fought off another wave of emotion as his mind flashed back to the carbon freeze chamber.

 _Damn it,_ he thought, shoving his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. He’d fallen too far. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t let her trip him up or get himself tangled in his old, thoroughly complicated, feelings for her. Yet here he was, and damn it, damn it, _damn her!_

He busied himself for a few moments tidying up the medical area, tossing away open packages and bloody bandages and rags – anything to take his mind off that woman for a few minutes. He dosed himself with a little painkiller to take the edge off.

As an afterthought, he grabbed a hypospray of a moderate sedative and injected it into Bela’s arm. After that fight, the longer she slept, the better. He knew from past experience she’d only get up and complain and annoy the hell out of him until he managed to dose her. He was just saving them both time.

With a sigh, Dean took a seat on the stool beside Sam’s bed and resumed cleaning the minor cuts and scrapes criss-crossing the kid’s face and arms. His brow furrowed in concentration, his movements slow and gentle. After a few minutes, Sam stirred.

“Where…” he mumbled incoherently. He glanced around blearily, trying to sit up. He cried out and Dean gently pressed on his unhurt shoulder, guiding him to lie back down.

“Hey, Sam, it’s okay – it’s Dean,” Dean assured him. “You’re safe. You’re on my ship, and we’re on our way to the base – to Jo. You’re okay.”

“Dean?” Sam finally focused on him.

“Yeah, uh… hi,” Dean gave Sam an awkward wave, taking his hands away from the kid. Somehow it’d been less weird to be cleaning his wounds when Sam was unconscious. Dean fiddled with the bloodied cloth in his hands and cleared his throat. “I was just… uh, you know.”

Sam shut his eyes and sighed, long and deep. “Thank you,” he said a moment later, opening his eyes again.

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “It’s nothing. I just… Jo would’ve killed me if I didn’t bring you back. I mean, literally, shoot me down in the street killed me.” He offered the kid a half-smile. It was easier to blame Jo then admit he felt so protective of someone he hardly knew.

Sam chuckled, stopping mid-laugh with a moan of pain. “Yeah,” he agreed when he’d recovered his breath. “I’m pretty sure she would.”

The strange tension Dean had felt when Sam first awoke began to ease, thankfully, though Dean still felt a little odd tending to his friend. He cleared his throat again and hesitantly resumed dabbing at a deep scrape on Sam’s side. The kid tensed and winced, but otherwise didn’t react. Dean was as gentle as he could be while wiping away the grime and blood.

“Azazel do all this to you?” he wondered.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“You kill him?” Dean demanded, anger flaring.

“I tried,” Sam croaked.

Dean pressed his teeth together so tight it hurt. Azazel had taken his parents, had taken Castiel on the Death Star, so many of his friends, so many lives, and now he’d nearly taken Jo’s brother too. Dean wasn’t just going to kill the Sith, he was going to fucking annihilate him.

“Dean…” the kid began but didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say. Dean decided to save him the trouble and asked him some questions instead.

“How’d you know where to find us? Did Jo send you? Did she get my message?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “After Hoth, I left the Rebels.”

Dean scrunched his eyebrows and swivelled on the stool to scoop up the last bacta bandage. _Crap._ _At least I got the worst of it_ , he thought grimly, eyes skimming Sam’s exposed skin for more gashes that needed tending, though he had no more bacta patches to apply to them. _It’ll have to do._

Aloud, he said, “You left?”

Sam nodded. “I went to Dagobah.”

Before he applied the last bandage, Dean realized that Sam was watching him with weird mix of emotions. He had clearly missed something. What was so important about Dagobah?

“Is… that supposed to mean something to me?” said Dean carefully.

Okay, now the kid’s eyes were shimmering with tears. He wished he had more painkillers to give him – that shoulder must’ve been hurting him pretty damn bad if he was choking back tears. Dean had to turn away. The look on Sam’s face was making him uncomfortable, like it didn’t have anything to do with physical pain. He gingerly pressed the bacta bandage along Sam’s side –

Sam cried out and Dean jumped away, terrified he’d hurt him, until he realized the kid was grabbing at his own head with his free hand.

“Sam? You okay?”

Sam’s eyes were shut tight. “Oh God… no…”

“Sammy? Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“No! _Cas!_ ” Sam yelled, pressing his hand tighter to his temple. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Dean’s heart pounded against his ribs. _What the hell is happening?_

Sam yelped in pain, gasped, and then tears began streaming down his face as he tried to recover his breath. Dean was frozen, hands hovering over Sam, no idea what had just happened or how to fix it.

“Sam?” he said again unsurely.

“He’s gone,” Sam cried. “Dean, h-he’s dead.”

Dean felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped away. “Who’s dead?”

“Castiel,” the younger man choked out.

“I know,” said Dean in confusion, thinking of the fight between Castiel and Azazel back on the Death Star. He’d assumed his best friend had been cut down then – had refused to let himself feel it. Sam had been there too, was he only just now feeling the grief? But the kid didn’t even _know_ Cas…

“No, Dean, _now_ …”

“Sammy, you’re not making any sense. What happened? Are you okay?”

It was several tense minutes before Sam seemed to be able to breathe again and could explain. “I saw it,” he said dully. “Dean, I left Hoth to go to Dagobah because I had a vision – before you found me, out there in the snow. I went – Cas was there on Dagobah, and he started to train me to become a Jedi like my mother. I had visions of you being tortured in Cloud City, so I came to find you and stop Azazel.”

The kid was barely making sense. Visions? Sam trying to be a Jedi? And Cas was alive? But then why the hell hadn’t he told Dean? And where was this all going? He waited, his stomach twisting itself in complicated knots, as Sam continued.

“Cas must have followed me to Cloud City after all. He must’ve decided…” The tears were still sliding down Sam’s cheeks, one by one. He scraped in a shaky breath. “I saw him – now. I had another v-vision.”

Dean’s throat constricted, but he managed, “What’d you see?” He absolutely dreaded what the kid was about to tell him but he needed to know.

Sam shook his head, his eyes glistening with a fresh wave of tears. “I saw him… die. He was in Cloud City and he was fighting and then… He’s gone, Dean. T-this time… he’s really gone.”

Dean blinked against the sting in his own eyes. “How?”

“The Emperor,” Sam replied, unwilling or unable to elaborate.

Dean ducked his head and bit his lip, struggling to keep his own tears at bay. He absolutely didn’t want to believe it. He’d had a hard enough time the first go around when he believed Azazel had taken Cas down, but there’d been that thread of hope that it hadn’t been true, that Cas had miraculously escaped, and Dean hadn’t seen what he thought he saw. The doors had shut after all, and Dean had never seen a body, so there’d been that ‘maybe’ lingering in the back of his mind all this time.

But if Sam was having visions that were coming true then this was it – _really_ it. And Castiel was dead.

For an irrational moment, Dean wanted to jump up and run for the cockpit, and demand they go back to Cloud City for Cas. But suppose they rushed back into the waiting arms of a thoroughly pissed off Azazel and the Emperor himself? What if they arrived only to discover they were too late to save Cas? It’d put them right back where they were, only in even worse shape. All of them were injured, so what good would they be in an all out fight?

Besides that, he had to think of Sam, who needed a bacta tank for that shoulder at the very least, and of Bela who could use one too to heal from her tangle with Ruby. Not to mention Ree, with a solid blaster hit to her body that still needed medical attention, and even Gabriel, who Dean was still pissed at, but who’d certainly been knocked around enough to require some treatment too.

Dean supposed he wouldn’t say no to some bacta for himself too, given the way Azazel had treated him, as long as the others were seen to first. They were now completely out of bacta on the _Impala_ , so he couldn’t even do some minor, temporary healing.

 _Not to mention the Rebels are counting on me to come back_ , Dean thought sadly.

He wished he had the luxury to _try_ to save Castiel, even if it was risky and borderline suicidal. It felt like giving up to not even try, something against the fabric of who he was. He’d already failed once to be there for his best friend and he couldn’t bear failing him again, yet he knew had no other choice.

He covered his face with his hands and tried to breathe. Putting his emotions in a box was a lot harder with so many of them fighting to tear free. He couldn’t let himself think about Cas or he’d break apart. He needed to be here and stay focused.

“There’s more,” Sam croaked, breaking into Dean’s grief-laden thoughts.

 _I can’t handle any more_. He let his shaking hands fall to his lap and forced his attention on Sam.

“And I don’t know how to say it, but… I’m just…” He took a breath. “Dean, you’re my brother.”

Dean blinked. Of all the things he imagined Sam might add to the conversation, that was certainly not one of them. Was he freaking serious?

“You know, now is really not the time for some backwards joke,” he said.

“No,” Sam sniffled. He attempted to sit up and when he couldn’t quite manage it, Dean leaned forward with a roll of his eyes to ease him upright. Sam coughed and continued, “I’m serious.”

Haltingly, Sam explained much of what Cas had told him on Dagobah. The weirdest part was that while the initial revelation had thrown Dean for a serious damn loop, the explanation didn’t feel as strange or impossible as he thought it should. In fact, as Sam went on, the more bothered Dean became. It felt _true._ But how could he have gone his whole life not knowing he had a sibling? He had no idea how the hell to react to this information or to the realization that his parents had never told him, though surely they had known.

He’d been an only child. He’d been raised to fight the Empire, to carry the weight of millions on his own two shoulders. The idea that he suddenly had someone with the same blood running in his veins, someone who _wanted_ to share that weight, didn’t make sense. The idea that he actually had a real piece of a family again, and finding this out in the immediate aftermath of truly losing his best friend…? Dean was so overwhelmed he felt like bolting from the room.

Somehow Sam must have sensed that, as he reached out and gently gave Dean’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s a lot.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean snapped. “Just a bit!”

He wasn’t mad, he was… he didn’t know what he was. It was a lot, it was too much, it wasn’t enough, it was everything. He raked his fingers through his hair, his mind whirling.

“Is this…” Dean fumbled for words. “Look, I… heard you. Back on Hoth and again today. I didn’t know what it was, but it was strong this time. A feeling, and like… I could _hear_ your voice, in my head. Is that… is this why?”

“We’re connected,” Sam nodded. “Dean, you’re a great pilot, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I mean, but what does that have to do with – ”

“The Force was strong with our mother Mary. She passed that on to us. It’s what gives us such strong instincts – makes flying so easy. And since Cas opened me up to… understanding it… well.” Sam lifted his good shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. “I didn’t know if you could hear me. I was just thinking about you – wishing I’d known you were my brother all along.”

The Force, as he knew of it, had never made much sense to Dean and he still didn’t get how Sam could ‘call’ to him like he had. But flying made sense and always had – relying on his instincts, feeling on fire when he flew, _that_ he understood very well.

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt that our dad was apparently one of the best pilots out there,” Sam added with a soft chuckle.

After that, Sam quieted to let Dean process, which he thoroughly appreciated. This was still a hell of a lot to take in. Dean head spun with so much new information. He knew most of his birth parents’ history. His adoptive parents had told him things, others he’d found out on his own. Bobby, Sam’s adoptive mother Ellen, and Dean’s parents had certainly done their job well though; he’d never had any inkling that he had a sibling.

Dean felt another wave of emotion threaten to overtake him. He had the urge to hug the kid – his brother. _Holy shit, I have a brother._ He swallowed hard.

“So… we’re brothers.”

“Apparently.”

For a second, Dean thought he might actually cry, and instead he started laughing. He had no idea why, but then Sam started to laugh too and they couldn’t seem to stop. When they finally sat back, caught their breath, and wiped their eyes, Dean felt like he was looking at Sam in an entirely different light.

 _My brother._ A surge of protectiveness rose up in his chest at the sight of the kid looking so battered and now he understood where that feeling came from. This connection they had, this bond – _brother_.

Dean frowned. “Lay down,” he instructed gruffly. “I have a brother now, and I have to make sure he gets to the base alive.”

Sam smirked but did as he was told, letting Dean ease him back down onto the cot with minimal hissing and wincing. Dean got him a protein pack and a bottle of water, supervised him while he ate it, then ordered him to sleep. He was now doubly responsible for him – once for Jo, and once for himself.

It was too new not feel weird thinking of this kid as his brother, but it was also bizarrely comforting and right. Which was scary and, yeah, just really weird.

“Wait, but you’re also Jo’s brother,” Dean said slowly, a number of very alarming thoughts springing to his mind. “So if you and I are brothers, and you’re _her_ brother…” He stomach churned. _Oh God._

Sam laughed outright at what must have been quite the look of terror on Dean’s face. “Relax. I’m her adopted brother. No blood relation.”

Dean exhaled and relief surged through him. That could have been extremely awkward. Before the kid could ask him any clarifying questions, Dean stood.

“I’ll come get you when we’re almost at Yavin, Sammy,” he promised, then winced. “Sorry. Sam. I know you don’t like that.”

The kid regarded Dean thoughtfully. “You know what? Sammy’s fine.”

A sudden burst of warmth filled Dean’s chest and he quickly turned away and walked out of the med bay before Sam could catch a glimpse of the grin threatening to break across his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canon #15
> 
> Amelia: Was working as a doctor in the Core until the fall of the Empire, then ended up venturing to the Outer Rim. She accidentally got herself mixed up in an unsavory situation. After the Battle of Yavin, Sam some others went out on a mission to break up an Imperial cell holding out, and they happened to come upon Amelia, and they help her out of her bad situation. Sam and Amelia hit it off and she ended up coming with him and Jo. She officially joined the Alliance a few months later (though there was no longer an Empire to fight against, the Alliance remained as the new galactic order and government).


	32. Chapter 32

When they landed in the hidden rebel base on the fourth moon of Yavin, Dean didn’t think he’d ever had a more crowded arrival in his entire time in the Alliance. The five of them were met with a swarm of people – medical personnel, techs, mechanics, his friends and peers, and more. He could’ve sworn half the base had come to greet them.

He supported Sam as they hobbled down the _Impala_ ’s loading ramp, followed by Gabriel, Ree, and Bela, who sniped about not needing help to walk though she leaned on Gabriel anyways. Dean’s ribs were killing him, but Sam was in far worse shape, so Dean bit back his moans and kept hobbling.

Jo cried out when she saw them, rushing forward through the throng to hug Sam and Dean both around the neck at the same time. When she noticed Sam’s bandaged shoulder and arm, she barked for the medical personnel to come forward and get him on a gurney. She swiftly ordered Bela and Ree onto gurneys too (predictably, Bela objected still but climbed on).

“What about me?” Gabriel complained, gesturing to his swollen purple, blue, and yellow face.

“You can walk,” said Jo coldly.

Gabriel huffed. Dean laughed into his hand. After he’d left Sam in the med bay, Dean had sent off a message to Jo that they were on his way. He gave her a quick account of what had happened since his last message. She’d fired back a reply immediately, brimming with relief, and told him he’d be briefed in full on as soon as he arrived.

Benny enveloped Dean in a big hug. Dean slapped his back, relieved to see his friend’s rugged, bearded face. Dean pretended the embrace didn’t hurt like hell, covering his gasp of pain with a hasty cough.

“Good to see you, brother,” Benny drawled, brilliant blue eyes sparkling. “You know that’s twice in as many weeks I assumed you were dead. Bad habit to get into.”

Dean chuckled. “Tell me about it.” He surreptitiously rubbed at his ribs. _I really need a tank session. Damn Azazel…_

After that, Dean was embraced by Ash, who languidly informed him that he’d arrived just in time. In his absence, they’d explored the potential loophole in the Death Star and had formulated a plan.

“We’re havin’ the briefing tomorrow,” Ash said. “We got them buggers nailed, I tell ya!”

Dean was bone-weary and could barely listen to Ash and Benny (mostly Ash) recount everything that had happened since Dean had blasted out of Hoth with Bela and Ree. Between Ash’s twanging Ploomarian accent and colorful embellishments, the stories of mishaps and Imperial run-ins during the journey from Hoth to Yavin sound more like a work of fiction than actual events.

“I tell ya, Dean-o, we lost ‘em in the end, and it was with triumph and all manner of bad-assery that we descended to these here temples in the jungles of Yavin’s fourth moon…”

Benny shot Dean a few long-suffering glances over Ash’s shoulder as the younger man rambled. Eventually Benny managed to steer Ash away with some feeble excuse. Dean gave Benny a grateful look and continued on to the control hub.

Dean hadn’t slept much on the trip to Yavin; he kept busy making sure Ree, Bela, and Sam’s injuries were tended to and ensuring that they were all able to sleep. Admittedly, he was still recuperating from the beatings he’d taken at Azazel’s hands, but he was better off than the others, so their recovery time was far more important to him. That left him and Gabriel to pilot, and Gabe tended to nod off or wander away and entertain himself, so Dean took over.

Now that he was finally here, he was aching and dead on his feet, but he needed to check in before he could collapse. He was one of the leaders of the Alliance, after all. He had to know what was going on. Sleep and medical treatment would simply have to wait. Hell, it wasn’t like he bleeding out or anything.

Anna Mothma’s smile was wide and bright when she spotted him, and she immediately pulled him into a warm, gentle hug.

“Dean,” she sighed. “You made it.”

It never ceased to amaze him how positively ageless she looked every time he saw her, with her brilliant red hair and smooth pale skin. Despite it being more than a year since he’d last seen her or visited the Yavin base, she was radiant and unchanged. If he didn’t know better he’d estimate her to be close to his own age or even Sam’s on appearances alone, though then it would’ve been impossible for her to have been a political force back when the Galactic Republic still existed, back during the Clone Wars. The rumor was she had ancestors from Iego, though he’d never asked her to confirm it.

“How are things here?” He nodded his chin to the holographic battle plans spread out across the conference table.

Anna sighed again, tucking a lock of fiery red hair that had slid out of her bun behind her ear. “I assume Ash told you?”

Dean grimaced. “Ash gabbed about the journey here, and how it was for everyone from the Hoth base in far too much irrelevant detail. Benny steered him away before he talked my ear off.”

Anna chuckled. “Of course he did.” She touched his cheek affectionately. “You haven’t slept. You look exhausted.” She traced her thumb over his cheekbone. “And you’re bruised.”

He kind of thought that ‘exhausted’ and ‘bruised’ were understatements at this point given what he’d been through recently, but he simply couldn’t go lay down yet.

“You should see the other guy,” he joked weakly and Anna was not impressed by his thin attempt at humor. It was like she could tell exactly how bad he was hurting. She’d always had that look in her eyes that made him feel like his soul was being x-rayed. He cleared his throat and tried to divert her attention away from him. “Tell me the plan.”

She took her hand away but didn’t stop watching him with concern in her sharp hazel eyes. “Dean, you’re barely standing upright.”

“Anna…”

He scrubbed his hand over his face, wanting to fight her – he _had_ to know what was going on! – and realized she was unfortunately right. He was too tired to muster the energy to even think about fighting her, if he was being truly honest. And God, his ribs _really_ freaking hurt…

“Tell me about Hoth, then,” he tried. His ribs could wait. He could make himself wait. It could all wait; it had to. The Alliance was more important than whatever Azazel had done to him personally and always would be.

She grasped his arm and steered him towards the door. “Later.”

“Anna,” he said gruffly, pulling out of her grasp. “I’ll go take a nap and get some bacta on the worst of it, and then come back for the plans, okay? But at least tell me about Hoth. How many?”

It had been eating away at him since he’d taken off in the _Impala_ and he couldn’t stand not knowing a moment longer. His closest friends were okay – they’d met him on the landing platform – but…

Anna pressed her lips together, clearly not liking this one bit, but she knew exactly how stubborn Dean could be. She gave in and murmured, “Seventeen transports.”

Dean closed his eyes, the number hitting him in the chest like a bulk freighter. _Only thirteen made it out?_ That meant thousands of casualties from the transports alone, never mind how many soldiers and pilots they’d lost on top of that.

“Over two thousand,” Anna continued, her voice brimming with pain. “Kevin Tran, Adam Milligan, Pamela Barnes…” She listed at least two dozen more names before Dean put his hand up unable to hear anymore and she trailed off sadly. He’d review the lists later.

He knew it’d had to be bad – had spent the last couple weeks stressing about that very thing. The Imperials had come down on them fast and hard. He knew if Bela and Ree hadn’t found the fried tracker on the _Impala,_ the numbers would’ve been worse. And he’d asked, hell, demanded that she tell him. But listening to her tell him the final numbers and name names, made the casualties more than a worry: it made them horribly real.

He opened his eyes when she clasped his hand.

“There was nothing you could have done differently,” she assured him. She knew him well.

He swallowed, silently disagreeing – there was _always_ something he could have done.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” she said. “Their lives will not be lost in vain. Sleep and heal.” Anna gave his hand a squeeze. “And when you wake up, I will show you how we are going to finish this, how we are going to take down the Death Star.”

 

~

 

The Emperor stood before the viewscreen watching the stars outside pass by, bored but not impatient. He listened to the officer behind him with detached interest as he tersely explained that they were several hours from boarding the Death Star and would have to take an even longer route due to a meteor collision two sectors over.

Lucifer was unconcerned. “The device is still holding?”

“Yes, m’Lord,” the officer confirmed.

The Emperor allowed himself a smile. See, Azazel’s tracking device idea _had_ been a good one, he simply hadn’t executed it properly. Trying to blast the hell out of the ship you wanted to track was awfully counterintuitive.

Instead, Lucifer let the _Impala_ leave Cloud City, dispatching just enough fighters that the _Impala_ ’s crew thought they had truly escaped. They wouldn’t take too much damage, therefore not risking another blown tracker, and all Lucifer had to do was chill out on the Death Star and follow. It was kind of a genius move, if he did say so himself.

“Good,” he said, folding his hands before him. “Dismissed.”

He heard the officer scurry away.

Despite an annoyingly high number of dead Imperials, needing to scrape Azazel’s favorite bounty hunter off a landing platform, and having to kill Azazel, Lucifer felt it had all in all been a rather productive day.

It was going to be a sweet victory to finally see an end to the Rebel Alliance. He’d been waiting for this day for a very long time. Having his visions confirmed in reality was always nice; so far everything was proceeding as he had foreseen it. All he had to do was close his eyes to see a planet exploding into a massive fireball, to feel ripples of terror blast through the Force… It was beautiful.

He opened his eyes and refocused on the stars dotting the expanse of black beyond the ship’s long gray nose. The scarred skin on his face pulled slightly as his smile grew.

 

 

~

 

Several sessions in the bacta tank later, Sam felt… well, not completely terrible. Considering the shape he’d been in when he arrived on Yavin, he took that as a major win. His limbs still ached but his arm wasn’t numb and he could move it without crying out at the pain in his shoulder. The bruises and cuts were still visible, but fading, and he was pretty amazed.

He’d thought the med bay on Hoth had been advanced, at least compared to the stuff back on Tatooine, but the bases on Yavin was even more impressive. The Alliance clearly had friends in high places to be able to outfit their base like this.

Sam stretched in his bed, testing out the range of motion on his arm. His shoulder was still covered in bacta bandages, but he found he could now lift it to a forty-five degree angle without too much trouble.

The curtain surrounding his bed slid open and in Bobby walked. It was more of a limping hobble as he leaned heavily on a brace, but it was walking nonetheless. The last time Sam had seen him, the older man had been bedridden and temporarily paralyzed from the waist down.

Sam’s face split into a wide grin.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby grunted. “How’s the arm?”

Sam had been too out of it to properly talk to him when Bobby had visited earlier, but he’d been told by Jo that Bobby had stayed by his bed all night and through most of the bacta tank sessions as well.

“I can move it… mostly,” Sam replied with another smile, demonstrating his limited range of motion.

“Good enough.” The older man chuckled and plopped into the chair beside Sam’s bed.

He seemed hesitant then, and Sam could guess why: this was the first conversation they’d had since Sam had been at Bobby’s bedside back on Hoth. Back when Bobby had been about to tell him something important.

“Look, Sam…” he sighed, adjusting his hat absently.

“It’s okay, Bobby,” Sam assured him quickly, knowing where this was going. “I know you had your reasons.”

Bobby frowned. “Hell, I shoulda told you anyways. I shoulda told you the day you came to see me back on Tatooine – the day your mom…” He shook his head, frustrated. “Then _you_ up and almost died. Twice…”

“It’s okay, really. I know now and that’s all that matters.”

Sam realized with a start that his friend’s eyes were glistening. “You shoulda heard it from me, Sam. I had a million opportunities to tell you he was your family – to tell ya everything, and I never did.” He sniffed and blinked rapidly, dispelling the shimmer in his eyes. “Shoulda made sure you knew you weren’t alone.”

“Bobby…” Sam swallowed hard against the lump lodged in his throat. “I wasn’t alone. I had you, and I had Jo. I was never alone.”

The other man turned his head away with another loud sniff. Sam didn’t know what to say next. Truth be told, he was still a little angry that Ellen and Bobby had kept this massive secret from him his whole life. He _did_ wish he’d known sooner, even if he couldn’t be sure what he’d have done with the information if Bobby had told him back on Tatooine.

But he knew now, and he understood, at least, partially why they’d lied. Most importantly, he was grateful that he and Dean now knew the truth.

“Okay, that is way more emotional stuff than my usual quota,” Bobby said gruffly, clearing his throat. “Sam, did I ever tell you about the time your dad, Ellen, and I accidentally got a whole platoon of Separatist idjits to surrender to us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unused Character Canons #16 & #17
> 
> Lillith: Never collected her bounty on Bela. Another mobster put out a hit on Lillith, and some bounty hunter (apparently with red hair and red lips) was crazy enough to take the job – more than that, she actually completed it. There was a brief scramble for Lillith’s throne, which left most of her cronies dead or fleeing, with some no-name coming to power in the aftermath. Lillith’s little empire shortly crumbled and then there was nothing left to fight over.
> 
> Eve: A lackey for Lillith. She runs a couple successful smuggling rings and deals with rare black market goods, primarily on Lillith’s behalf. If she has a few secret illicit operations on the side, well, she is a gangster after all. After Lillith was killed, Eve slipped away and continues her low-key operations elsewhere.


	33. Chapter 33

That morning, the core command group spoke at length about how they would take down the terrible battle station. They debated details and methods before settling on a firm plan of attack. Between everything the Alliance had gone through on their journey to Yavin, they hadn’t had much time to discuss how best to exploit the weakness Ash had discovered. Once they finally agreed on a plan, it was time to brief the pilots and personnel who would be carrying out the mission.

Dean shifted in his seat as the room filled up. He was still sore, but it was a lot easier to ignore now that he’d had some painkillers and bacta treatments. Jo took the chair beside him with a smile.

“Well?” she raised an eyebrow at him, wanting his opinion on the plan.

“I think we have a real chance.”

Her smile widened and her eyes brimmed with hope. “Me too.”

Sam and Bobby hobbled in shortly thereafter, settling down on the other side of Jo. The kid was looking a lot less bruised, Dean noted gratefully. He realized all over again that this kid was his _brother_ and he almost laughed out loud. He didn’t know how he’d ever get used to the idea.

Anna called for quiet a moment later and the murmurs in the gathered crowd died down.

“As you well know, the Death Star is heavily shielded,” said Anna, gesturing to a sizeable technical hologram of the Empire’s prize battle station. It hovered in front of large wall display, which depicted technical layouts of the Star’s inner workings. “Its firepower is so great it has the capacity to destroy an entire planet.”

Her eyes flicked to Dean, who swallowed hard and thought of Alderaan. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the way his home had shattered in a terrible fireball, still feel the wave of pain and terror and sorrow that had made his chest ache. Could still feel it in the quiet moments before he was able to make himself fall asleep.

Jo placed her hand over his and gave it a quick, comforting squeeze.

“They have chosen to design its defenses against a direct, large-scale assault, so the few battle cruisers we have will not be useful,” Anna continued. “However, because of this design, a small one-man fighter should be able to penetrate the outer defense system and bypass the tractor beam.” She paused and nodded. “Yes, Jody?”

Dean craned his neck to see one of their veteran pilots standing towards the back of the room.

“Pardon, Anna, but what the hell good is a few little fighters gonna be against that monstrosity?” Jody Mills asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the hologram and readouts.

Anna smiled softly. “Excellent question, Jody. According to the plans brought to us by Dean Winchester and his team – ”

 _Team?_ Dean snorted, thinking of Bela, and Jo knocked her elbow against his arm.

“The Empire apparently does not consider one man fighters to be a threat. In their arrogance, they have created this weakness, which we will most _certainly_ be exploiting.”

A wave of soft laughter went around the room, and Anna pressed a few buttons on the table before her. The hologram of the Death Star disappeared; behind her, the display on the screen changed to depict a 3D map.

“It will be quite difficult to reach the target area, however. You will need to descend and skim the surface, manoeuvering down this narrow trench until you reach this point.” Anna gestured, and the map moved down a path until it reached a wall-like area with a large hole in the center. “This is a thermal exhaust port, situated directly below the main port. Because it is connected to the reactor system, a direct hit would cause a cataclysmic chain reaction that would tear the station apart from the inside.”

Anna pressed another button and the screen showed a brief simulation of what she was speaking about.

“Only a precise, direct hit will cause this chain reaction,” she continued and frowned slightly. “The catch of course, is that this port is a mere two meters wide. And because the shaft is ray-shielded, we’ll have to use proton torpedoes to accomplish this.”

A murmur of dismay and surprise swept through the room. Dean exchanged worried looks with Jo. Frankly, he wasn’t entirely convinced it could be done. Flying down the trench and hitting the very small target wasn’t the problem, at least not for him. It was hitting it _just exactly_ so that this chain reaction did what they expected. And it was trying to do it with a damn proton torpedo.

Sure, there was a real chance it could work. There was also a very real chance it wouldn’t.

“Pardon again,” Mills said above the elevated mumbles. “But that’s impossible, even for your computer simulator, there.” She shook her head.

“Actually, I don’t think it is,” Sam, to Dean’s surprise, piped up. The kid swivelled in his chair. “Back home, I used to bull’s-eye womp rats in my T-16.” He shrugged modestly. “They couldn’t have been much bigger than two meters. It’s not easy, but it _can_ be done.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. The Alliance had a bunch of T-16’s they used for training. They flew very similarly to the snubfighters they used in battle, although the 16’s were a little less maneuverable. And as far as he knew, womp rats were nasty pests and stupid fast – hitting them cleanly with T-16 guns was pretty impressive indeed. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who thought so, as much of the room looked at Sam with surprise and respect.

The kid’s face reddened a little under the attention and he hunched his shoulders as he faced Anna again.

“You’re right,” she said, nodding appreciatively at him. “It’s not impossible. Just terribly difficult.” She raised her eyes and looked around the room at the gathered faces. “I don’t want to sugar coat this: this is not a simple, easy mission. It will not be without loss and I wish there was another way. But we have this opportunity before us and we must take it, and stab at the very heart of the Empire.”

Anna paused for a moment, letting the room absorb her words.

“We have the chance for victory today. This victory will not only be for us; it will be for the galaxy. We will avenge the lives of those we have lost and save the lives of so many to come. We will deliver such a blow to the Empire that they will be crippled and bleed out.”

She dipped her head slightly, her gaze becoming intense and brilliant. Dean never wondered for a moment how she’d managed to lead thousands of people into battle.

“Today, we fight for our freedom and for peace, like we have never fought before. Today, we fight to end this war.”

When she finished, there was a burst of applause, cheering, and whistling. Anna let it continue for a good minute before she dismissed the room. Everyone filtered out to make preparations for the upcoming mission. Dean stood to leave as well when one of the aides hurried forward and spoke quickly to Anna. Her expression went from surprise to dismayed to grim in quick succession, and Dean stopped.

“What is it?” Jo asked, standing alongside him.

Anna’s eyes locked with Dean’s and the pained expression in her eyes made his stomach somersault.

“Something bad,” he muttered.

Jo lingered for a moment before she got the sense that Anna needed a minute alone with Dean. Jo gathered Sam and Bobby and they were the last ones out of the room.

Dean came around the table to Anna’s side the second the door to the briefing room slid shut.

“Anna, what is it?”

She had gone very pale which spiked his heartrate.

“We’ve received word from Gadreel,” she explained quietly. “They’ve only just finished decoding his latest transmission.”

Dean swallowed. Gadreel was their greatest spy, nestled deep inside the Imperial force. He’d joined up with the Empire originally, and even been on a mission or two that ended in Rebel casualties at his hand. Eventually, he came over to the Alliance, morally distraught over what he’d done and what the Empire continued to do, and had been spying for the Rebels ever since.

“What’d he say, Anna?” Dean prompted, his worry increasing at the way Anna was struggling to get the words out.

“Dean, I am so, so sorry.” She clasped his hand. “They found Castiel. He’s dead.”

Because of Sam, Dean already knew this, though it still hurt to hear it officially confirmed. He nodded numbly, not trusting his voice for a few seconds. He tried to keep breathing and keep away the surge of grief that was threatening to crash over him. He assumed he’d have to feel it all at some point, but now was not that time. He shoved it away, buried it deep. _Later, later…_

Anna, as usual, understood what he could not say and continued less hesitantly, “There’s more. Azazel is dead too, which is good for us, except that the Emperor has come to personally take over the Star.”

Dean allowed himself a small moment of pure relief and satisfaction. Knowing that the Sith who had plagued so much of his life was finally gone lifted a weight off his shoulders. Of course, he would’ve much rather been the one to end that evil son of a bitch, but it was good enough knowing he was dead.

It was unsettling to hear that the Emperor himself had taken over. The Emperor had been an elusive figure in the Empire, pulling the strings but never visible like Azazel. Dean had long thought of the Sith Master as being massively powerful but completely untouchable, shrouded in mystery. A shudder ran through him thinking of the Emperor taking over for Azazel. The kingpin was revealing himself, appropriating the throne. The idea was utterly terrifying.

“Well, that’s good news at least,” Dean said with a sigh. “Sort of.” If they had any luck left in the universe, the Emperor might even be _on_ the Death Star when the Alliance attacked.

Anna was still looking far too grim, however, and Dean’s moment of relief evaporated.

“What else?” He braced himself, concerned about what other information Gadreel had imparted to them in his latest message.

“The Imperials implanted a tracker on your ship in Cloud City before you all escaped. Dean, they know we’re here.”

Dean snapped his eyes to hers, angry and incredulous. The bastards had already tried that trick once but they’d damaged it themselves when the _Impala_ was escaping the Death Star. Bela had found it, but how could Dean have been so stupid to think they wouldn’t try it again? They were certainly desperate enough, and Azazel was not the type to let things go.

Dean had been so worried about getting away from Cloud City and getting Sam and Bela help that he hadn’t even considered another tracking device. His ship had been under Gabriel’s people’s care, sure, but then Azazel and company had shown up. The Sith wouldn’t have let there be any chance of Dean escaping again and Dean knew it.

He swore under his breath, mad at himself for slipping up, and at possibly the most critical moment in history.

“Is he sure?” Dean demanded.

They were going to have to evacuate and this time they had no established base to run to. They’d be scattered, on the run in the black until a new temporary base could be set up. On top of that, the damn Imperials could be _here_ already, seconds away, if they’d tracked them from Cloud City, and _God_ , not now, not when they were so close to ending this!

“They’re coming,” Anna assured him somberly. “Ash crunched the numbers. We have maybe a couple hours, probably less.”

Dean pulled his arm away from Anna so he could scrub his hands over his face. He supposed there was some sort of good news in that they’d managed to decode Gadreel’s message before the Emperor and the Death Star blew them to bits. Knowing that they were even coming in the first place was most likely Dean’s fault for not checking his own damn ship before he flew to the base really took the ‘good’ out of it, though.

Anna inhaled, clearly about to try to talk him out of the guilt she knew he was feeling, but he didn’t want to hear it.

“We better move up the timetable,” he said before she spoke. “We gotta get pilots in ships _now_.”

 

~

 

Decked out in a fresh flight suit, Dean made his way across the busy hangar bay. Getting into the thing had been a bit of pain – one day with a whole bunch of bacta had certainly healed him up pretty quick, but one day wasn’t enough. His body still ached from the punishment he’d taken from Azazel. He wished he’d thought to stop by the med bay and grab another painkiller, though he knew adrenaline would take over in no time and he wouldn’t even notice his injuries.

The whole base was organized chaos as the Rebels prepared to attack the Death Star. Amongst the bustle of people and droids, Dean caught sight of Bela, who he hadn’t seen since late last night in the med bay. She’d been terse and distant with him, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary, especially since she’d been in the middle of being treated for a number of injuries herself.

He made his way over to her, sidestepping around a golden protocol droid and a couple of pilots.

“Oh, dear,” Bela said in greeting, eyes raking over his uniform. The skin on her face was mottled with fading bruises. “Orange is a terrible color on you.”

He snorted. “Gee, and here I really thought it brought out my eyes.”

She leaned down with a small smile to put another crate onto the dolly beside her.

Dean felt a tendril of cold anger coil in his gut. “What’s that?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what it was.

Bela didn’t meet his eyes as she reached for another crate. “What I was owed for delivering you.”

“So after everything we went through…” he trailed off, trying to control the emotion riding too close to the surface. Damn it, damn her…

This was exactly what he’d expected, _exactly_ why he’d fought against himself and tried not to fall. It had all been in vain, of course, because he hadn’t been able to really resist her, he never had, and now she was leaving him in pieces once again. He hated himself for thinking that this time might be different and she wouldn’t disappear into the black with her money and no backwards glance. He hated that he continually fooled himself into believing she could be a decent human.

“Look, I saved your life, you saved mine, we’re square,” she said airily. “You never wanted to see me again anyway, but circumstances tossed us together so what choice did we have? Now I’m just fulfilling the promise I made back on Clia.” Bela shrugged. “I’ll leave you to your Alliance, and you’ll leave me to my smuggling, yeah? Back to old times.”

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest. “After _everything_ we went through,” he repeated hotly. “And you’re just gonna act like nothing happened? Bela, I know you’re cold, but you’re not that cold. You can’t be.”

She met his fierce gaze with a blazing one of her own. “Then perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think, darling. I never wanted to be a part of your precious revolution, I’ve told you that. Bully for you that it’s going so well in the eleventh hour. But I’ve had my fair taste of it, and it’s not a flavour I particularly enjoy. In case you missed it, I was nearly killed for merely being in your company.”

“Ruby had nothing to do with – ”

“I’m not talking about damn Ruby,” Bela cut him off sharply.

He pictured the carbon freeze chamber again – Azazel’s mirth, Bela’s fear, his own desperation and helplessness. “Bela,” he tried, only slightly more gentle. “You said – ”

“I know what I said,” she snapped, resuming the stacking of her crates. “I was about to die, for God’s sake. I would have said anything.”

He didn’t believe her, didn’t want to believe she was truly that callous. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him. He knew the way she looked at him when she let her guard down and when she was under him in bed. He knew there’d been something real in these past few weeks and it stung like hell to realize she was determined to throw it away because she was scared.

And he didn’t know why he was surprised by it.

“Look, just put away whatever messed up crap is between us,” he said, more pleadingly than he would’ve liked. “You know what we’re up against here, how close we are to ending this. The Alliance needs your help.”

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?” She stopped loading the dolly to straighten and glare at Dean again. “I’ve got to pay off Lillith – Ruby won’t be the last bounty hunter to come to collect, so I’ve got to square away my debt before that happens. I don’t have time to play war with you and your comrades.”

He opened his mouth to interrupt her, angry with the way she always minimized the Rebels and their missions, but she ploughed on.

“Besides that, you’re planning to send a small force of one-man fighters against the goddamn Death Star, which I have had the personal misfortune to set foot in, so I know firsthand how huge and powerful it is. Tell me that not’s suicidal and I’ll tell you you’re wrong. I want no part of it.”

“You’re _really_ going to be that selfish?” he barked. “You’re going to take off when I – when we need you the most?”

She tossed him a condescending smirk. “I rather think you all can get yourselves killed without my help.”

Dean watched her continue with her crates. So this was really it then. She was leaving, exactly like he’d known all along she would, and yet watching her really do it hurt more than he could put into words. He should never have let himself believe, even for a second, that she’d understand the cause – she never had. Or that she’d truly admit that she’d changed a little and maybe actually cared about someone other than herself.

He swallowed his warring emotions until he could speak to her plain and flat and cold. “Well, hell. And here I thought I was maybe wrong to always assume the worst of you.”

She glanced up at his tone but didn’t slow her progress with the crates.

“I _did_ care about what happens to you, you know. That was all real for me.” He flung the words at her, wanting them to leave a mark.

Bela’s movements slowed.

“I assume you’re taking the _Impala_ ,” he continued stonily. “So you better get her back to me once you’re good with Lillith. Providing I don’t die on my ‘suicide mission’ today, it’ll be good to fly her again, especially if I can do it freely without the Empire hunting me down.” He hoped the ice in his voice was stinging her as much as her words had hurt him.

Bela straightened. “Dean…”

Hell, she almost looked regretful. He didn’t feel bad about it one bit.

“You leave, and I don’t ever want to cross paths with you again,” he warned. “If I do, I’ll shoot you on sight.”

She tilted her head down a little and for once, appeared genuinely apologetic, looking at him from under her long eyelashes. “Come now, you don’t mean that.”

“The hell I don’t,” Dean bit out. “I mean it very much.”

She smiled then, as if she could warm him with it and erase her cutting remarks. Her voice was honey when she next spoke, like a balm to the ache she’d created in his chest.

“Darling, please, let’s not end it like this. We both know you’d miss me too much.” She took a small step towards him. “How much _I_ would miss you. All our ups and downs… This is a bump in the road, yeah? We’ve done this before.”

She was so disingenuine, he thought, trying to making light of all this, and it made him sick. He could barely stand to look at her.

“Don’t.” He said the word with such force, such finality, that she flinched as though he’d slapped her.

The painful silence between them lengthened for a few moments, deafening to his ears in the middle of the bustling hangar bay. He swore he could hear a thousand and one unspoken things, and then all he could think about was that day on Clia when he’d thought he’d walked away for good, nursing a broken heart.

He held his jaw tight, because this was different and he meant it when he said he was done. He was determined to.

“You better get going,” he finally managed, his voice hard as transparisteel. “And Bela, I swear to God, I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

He hated her, he hated the way she was so predictable in her self-preservation. He hated that they’d come to this, that he’d let them. He hated the way her eyes were glistening as though she was trying to hold back tears, and the proud set of her jaw as she was pretended she wasn’t.

He hated that he wanted to say he was sorry.

“You won’t,” she replied. To her credit, her voice wobbled only a little.

Dean turned on his heel and headed for his snubfighter. He refused to look back.

 

~

 

Once Sam was medically cleared to pilot an X-Wing, he quickly got a hold of a flightsuit. He was both nervous and fired up, ready to do his part in the fight against the Empire. Even more than that, he was excited to fly – this wouldn’t be like the uneventful trip to see Castiel, this was chaos and battle. The idea scared him as much as it excited him.

 _“All flight troops, man your stations_ ,” came a bland voice over the intercom. “ _All flight troops, man your stations.”_

Sam hurried to the hangar bay, which was full of people and the roar of engines starting up. In his haste to find Jo and his assigned plane, he nearly crashed into Bela who was struggling along with a loaded dolly. She was red-faced from the effort and looked uncharacteristically sad as well as frustrated.

“Sorry!” he apologized, narrowly avoiding a collision.

She straightened up, and her expression cleared, so fast he was sure he’d imagined the sadness.

“Well, hello you!” She tossed him a grin and a wink and his stomach fluttered against his will. Clearly his time on Dagobah, away from her, had done nothing to banish his crush. Even though she visibly hadn’t fully recovered from her battle in Cloud City, he still thought she was unfairly pretty.

Sam glanced at the dolly piled high with crates. “Did you need a hand?”

“Yes,” Bela exhaled in a huff. “I was not expecting it to be so damn heavy.”

Bela pulled and Sam pushed, weaving through the people darting this way and that. He tried not to put too much pressure on his healing shoulder, instead favouring his other arm. He was cleared to fly, only just barely, so he wasn’t about open his injuries up again.

Another call for pilots to get to their ships sounded over the intercom as Bela and Sam reached the _Impala_ ’s loading ramp.

“Thanks,” Bela puffed, swiping her arm across her forehead. “Ree and I can take it from here.”

“No problem,” Sam replied. “What’re you loading?”

She hesitated, her expression clouding.

“Sorry,” Sam waved her off. “If it’s personal, I don’t need to – ”

“No, of course, it’s fine, I just…” Bela trailed off. He had never seen her look anything but self-assured, yet now she seemed off kilter and unsure.

He had to get to his ship, but he couldn’t walk away from her without asking, “Are you okay, Bela?”

She laughed, and her demeanor shifted back to the confident, flirty one he was familiar with. “Oh, darling, you’re terribly wonderful, you know that?” She smiled prettily at him and he felt his cheeks warm.

He ducked his head with a chuckle.

“You better get to your ship before they leave without you, Sam.” She gestured towards the massive bay doors at the farthest end of the bay where a couple ships were already taking off.

Sam realized with a jolt that she was preparing to leave as well, and he had the feeling she wasn’t ever coming back. “Bela…”

“Now, Sam, I’ve never been good with goodbyes, so don’t make this harder than it needs to be, yeah?”

“C’mon, you can’t leave _now_!” Sam protested. “Look around – we’re about to head straight into a war and we need all the help we can get.”

“Trust me darling, I am _well_ aware of that,” she said bitterly. Her eyes darted to her crates and Sam remembered hearing something from Jo in passing about “paying Talbot”. His heart sunk.

He knew Dean said all kinds of nasty things about her, but he’d assumed that was their complicated history talking. He certainly had got the impression Bela only looked out for herself, but he figured in her and Ree’s line of work, they sort of had to.

Besides, he’d only ever promised her a reward to make her help him free a stranger, or so he’d thought. Now after everything, he couldn’t believe she was really holding Dean and the Rebels to that promise.

This was different than simply looking out for herself, though – it had to be. This was so much bigger than that, than a few thousand credits. This was the fate of the galaxy, of billions of people, and how could she – how could _anyone_ – consciously walk away from that?

She tilted her head and smiled at him in a weary way. “This isn’t for me, Sam. This isn’t my fight.”

“Bela, if you care about living free in this galaxy, it _is_ your fight,” Sam said firmly. “Or, if you care about anyone _in it_.”

She glanced away from him, closing off. If she really was leaving for good, he didn’t want this to be the way they ended things. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he had an actual romantic chance with her, he just didn’t like the idea of walking away without a real goodbye. He wasn’t sure he’d ever have the chance again.

“Look, I gotta go,” he tried, turning his tone soft and friendly again. “I’m sorry to see you go. It’s been a hell of an adventure.” He offered her a genuine smile, which she gratefully returned.

“You too.” She reached forward to clasp his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I don’t… I don’t put much stock in this sort of thing myself, but, Sam...” She stood on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. Near his ear, she murmured, “May the Force be with you.”


	34. Chapter 34

“There you are,” Dean greeted with a grumble. He was waiting beside Sam’s X-Wing, gathered with Bobby, Jo, and Dean’s good friend Benny. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” panted Sam. “Bela was loading her…” He trailed off when he saw Dean’s expression go dark and hard. He hastily finished, “I got caught up.”

Benny and Jo exchanged knowing glances. Sam raised his eyebrows at his sister – did she know about Dean and Bela’s history? Oh, he was so going to ask her about that later.

“All right, you kids gotta ship out, so we’ll make this real quick,” Bobby said as he passed out a handful of plastic cups.

“Fancy,” Benny quipped, twirling his cup around.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sam, this is a tradition that your dad, Ellen, and I started back in the Clone Wars,” Bobby continued. “Dean here carried it on, and now we’re adding you to it.”

Sam smiled at the small knot of people gathered, realizing that these were all the people Dean was closest to. He immediately felt honoured to be included, then sad when he realized that Castiel should’ve been there too. He shoved away the pang of grief.

Bobby unscrewed the lid on the bottle he was holding and sloshed a bit of dark brown liquid into each of their outstretched cups. Jo frowned at it and Sam wrinkled his nose. It smelled like tar.

Bobby held his cup up first. “To freedom,” he said sombrely.

Benny, Dean, Jo, and Sam repeated the toast in murmured unison, their cups making a dull clacking noise when they bumped together. Sam tossed the liquor back, mimicking the others, and he immediately coughed. Whatever the stuff was, it burned his throat and his mouth and made his eyes water. It tasted bitter and vile.

Dean made a face as he swallowed then laughed at his brother, while Benny _hmm_ ed thoughtfully, licking his lips.

“Sorry,” Bobby grunted. “This is all I could find.”

“Once you get past the burn, it ain’t too bad,” said Benny, only half sarcastic, reaching out to collect the empty cups.

“What – the hell – ” Sam coughed, “was that?!” His mouth and throat were still on fire.

“Hell if I know,” Bobby shrugged. “Label’s gone missing. It was the only thing left in the alcohol stores.”

Sam glanced at the older man incredulously and saw that Bobby was suppressing a smile, and not very well.

Benny and Dean laughed and Jo chuckled into her hand. Sam glanced between them all. Somebody was totally messing with him.

“Sorry, Sam,” his sister said. “It really _is_ a serious tradition. But first-timers always have to drink Mekzatorian brew, which will pretty much peel paint. Dean’s idea.”

“I see.” Sam’s eyes were still watering and he directed his mock-offended gaze to his brother. “Jerk,” he wheezed.

Dean smirked. “Aw, you made it too easy, bitch.”

The final call for the pilots to man their ships went out and Sam’s stomach jolted. He was moments away from flying into battle and the notion barely seemed real – despite being suited up and about to leave. All those years on Tatooine dreaming about making a difference…

This was so much more than steering that speeder over Hoth’s icy surface, skirting around Imperial walkers. This was more, even, than going head to head with Azazel in the corridors of Cloud City. This was everything, this was it, this was why he’d followed Castiel to Dagobah – this was the Death Star and the Emperor. This was the heart of the Galactic Empire and he was about to dive straight at it.

Benny and Dean wished each other luck with a quick hug, followed by Benny and Jo. Benny stopped to shake Sam’s hand and give his shoulder a squeeze while Bobby spoke in low tones to Jo.

“Fly true, brother,” Benny said with a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

“You too,” Sam returned.

“Promise I’ll get you somethin’ more palatable to drink when we’re toasting to the fall of the fuckin’ Empire.” He gave Sam’s back a slap and headed away with the last group of pilots.

Sam hardly knew him, but he liked Benny. When this was all over, he hoped he’d have the chance to employ Benny’s help getting back at Dean for the liquor prank, as well as take him up on the offer of something ‘palatable’.

Bobby embraced Sam when he finished speaking with Jo.

“I’ll be down in command with Anna, listening in,” Bobby assured Sam, slapping his back. “You kick some ass and stay safe, you hear me?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Bobby pulled back to glare at him. “You’ll do better than that, you’ll come back down here – that’s not optional.”

Sam nodded again, feeling suddenly emotional, and faced Jo.

“I’ll see you when we land,” she said, but she hugged him tighter than normal and he held on a moment longer than usual. She sniffed when he let her go.

A loud wail caused all four of them to turn and look. They relaxed when they realized it was Ash, hollering with excitement.

“Wooo!” he called out.

“Oh my God,” Jo’s jaw fell open when Ash bolted past them.

Dean immediately bent over, howling with laughter, Bobby shook his head, and Sam tried to blink away the image of Ash streaking towards his X-Wing wearing nothing but his helmet.

“Was he…?” Sam attempted.

“Ash!” Jo bellowed. She gave the boys a quick salute and tore after her resident genius. “Ash, I’m not going over this again! You are _not_ flying naked, no matter what the bet was!”

Dean cackled and wiped at his eyes.

“There are just some things in the universe you never need to see,” Bobby declared. With another shake of his head, he bid the boys goodbye and departed for the command center, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

Dean recovered his breath and cleared his throat. “Sammy, look,” he began, rubbing at his neck. “I don’t do gooey emotional crap, so…” he shrugged. “Last one to blow up the Emperor… is a little bitch.” He flashed Sam a cocksure grin.

“You already called me that,” Sam reminded him with a roll of his eyes.

One of the crewmembers dashing around making last minute adjustments gave Sam the thumbs up. Sam nodded in thanks and climbed the ladder into his ship.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna call you it again when you lose.” Dean started walking backwards. “Bitch.”

“I haven’t lost _yet_ ,” Sam said over his shoulder as he slid into the cockpit. “Jerk!”

He heard Dean’s loud laugh trailing away and shook his head. Smiling to himself, he fired up his X-Wing. He pulled down his flight goggles, fitting them securely on his face. If this was what having a brother was like… His grin widened as he strapped on his helmet. _This is what having a brother is like_.

The crew on the ground disconnected fuel hoses and waved bright red guiding lights in a variety of signals, directing the ships humming in the bay. Moments later, Sam steered his X-Wing out of the hangar bay with a dozen other snubfighters, then blasted up into the misty atmosphere.

 

~

 

_I’m just saying…_

“Yes, thank you, I heard you the first twelve times,” Bela snapped at her co-pilot. “I know what I’m doing.”

She steered the _Impala_ along and started making calculations for the jump to hyperspace. She could still feel Ree’s gaze on her and she bristled.

“Stop looking at me like that. Do you really want to barrel into this bloody suicide mission? Hmm?” She spun in her chair. “Or would you rather ensure that we’re not murdered by bounty hunters in the near future?”

_You really think Lillith is going to forgive you, just like that, just because you’re paying her back? She’s a gangster._

“You didn’t answer my question.”

_You didn’t answer mine._

Bela huffed and resumed her calculations.

 _We_ could _turn back. It’s not too late. If this is about Dean or your pride or something… As much as you pretend nothing affects you, I know you care about him. I was there in the carbon chamber too, you know._

“It doesn’t matter,” Bela shot back. “He made it quite clear how he feels about me, and I don’t love him either, so there’s really nothing to go back _for.”_ As she turned to check one of the charts, she noticed the way Ree’s big eyes were sparkling. “What?”

I _didn’t save ‘love’. You did._

Bela opened her mouth but found no retort. She hadn’t, surely she hadn’t. She didn’t love Dean, she didn’t love anything except being alive and getting paid. Those were her two favourite things and she’d never been ashamed of that.

And yet, his parting words had cut deeper than she was ever willing to admit. Standing there, mind made up to run, she’d suddenly wanted to take it all back. She’d wanted to prove him wrong. That look of disdain, the confirmation that she would always betray him with the most despicable course of action – hell, it was almost worth it to turn back right now just to contradict him on principle.

But she knew what she was. She wasn’t some wholesome hero out to aid the greater good. She was a con woman and a thief, a merc and a smuggler. She was every inch the self-serving lowlife Dean thought she was. It was time to stop pretending she wasn’t and time to stop pretending she could be better. She didn’t fit into Dean’s life and he didn’t fit into hers. Never had, if their past had taught them anything, and Bela was one who learned from her mistakes.

So she squared her shoulders and reached for the handle in the middle of the console. “Ree, I know what I’m doing,” she said as firmly as she could manage, hoping she sounded believable.

She would leave Dean and his hero complex to save the day, and she’d go find herself something appropriately shady to do, because that’s what she did. Maybe when she had Ree deliver the _Impala_ back to him, she’d send a postcard or something. Really, it’d only been good sex and good cons – she never tired of seeing the way he looked when she screwed him (literally and figuratively). She was too shallow for more, always had been.

No, she couldn’t have said ‘love’. Bela Talbot didn’t love anything.

“I know what I’m doing,” she repeated, though she wasn’t sure who she was talking to anymore. She ignored the tremble in her voice, chalking it up to the vibration of the ship as the _Impala_ rocketed into hyperspace.

 

~

 

A low-toned alarm and an officer behind the Emperor reported incoming Rebel ships. Lucifer skimmed the command display to the far left of the forward viewscreen. He could make out the red circle of Yavin with its four moons, and a flock of tiny green pinpricks coming to life and heading towards the white circular Death Star.

“Report?” Lucifer said over his shoulder.

Roman lifted his head from studying the display. “Estimated time to firing range is fifteen minutes, my lord.”

Lucifer nodded. _Just like my vision_. “Roman, get excited. This has been a historic week and we’re gonna end it on a high note. First we acquired Cloud City, then I smoked that pain-in-the-ass Castiel – oh, and that has been a long time coming, let me tell you.”

Roman nodded as if he understood and cared. Lucifer decided he was a good one to have around.

“And now best of all, the grand finale – the cherry on _top._ Today is the day the Empire wastes the Alliance, effectively ending the rebellion. You remember this day, Dick. It’s gonna be a good one.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“ _Oh it’s a good day,_ ” Lucifer sang. “ _For shining your shoes, yeah it’s a good day, for losing the blues – everything to gain and nothin’ to lose…_ ”

Lucifer clapped his hands together once then spread his arms before the viewscreen. His smile was feral and it pleased him that even Roman shuddered at it. Lucifer fixed his eyes on the adorably tiny Rebel ships that were advancing on his magnificent Star.

“Yeah, it’s a good day for rebels to die... Come on, kiddies. Let’s play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Unused Character Canon #18
> 
> Rowena: A mobster on a far Outer Rim territory, she spent years vying for power against Lillith. Rowena’s gang was nicknamed The Coven, and though Rowena often tried to topple Lillith’s empire with brazen attacks as well as stealth and spies, nothing worked. Rowena eventually hired a bounty hunter named Abaddon to assassinate Lillith – Abaddon was the only one willing to even attempt crossing the powerful gangster. After Lillith was dead, Rowena sat back to enjoy the spoils of watching her rival fall, though the victory was short-lived. She was betrayed by a member of her precious Coven and killed.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, canonically, 32 X-Wings and 7 Y-Wings, as well as a possible number of unspecified ships mentioned in other semi-canon and non-canon sources, go up against the Death Star, Vader, and like five Imperial fighters. Only Luke and Wedge survive the mission, plus _maybe_ a possible very small handful of unspecified pilots. Seeing as how I’ve been combining the movies a little, the numbers here are changed and bumped up on both sides, something a little more like the end battle over Endor vs Death Star II in Return of the Jedi. 
> 
> Also canonically, Gold Leader drove a Y-Wing. I wanted Dean in an X-Wing for reasons, but also because Wookiepedia says they’re faster than the more powerful Y’s. Lastly, I’m playing around and taking some liberties with a few different things here, so please tell me if something doesn’t make sense

“This is Gold Leader,” Dean’s voice commanded over the comms. “All wings report in.”

Sam listened intently as his fellow pilots ran through their call signs. He’d been quickly introduced to most of them after that morning’s briefing, though it’d been a lot of faces and names and he wasn’t able to place many of the voices just yet.

“Red Ten, standing by.”

“Red Four, standing by.”

“Red Three,” came Jo’s voice, and Sam could picture the determined set of her jaw when she spoke. “Standing by.”

He recognized Ash, speaking as Red Two, and the veteran pilot who’d spoken up in the briefing, Jody Mills, chiming in as Red Leader. Sam jumped in next.

“Red Five, standing by,” he said, his eyes scanning the familiar console before him. Everything was ready.

Benny followed him – Gold Five – and on and on it went until all forty-two Red Squadron pilots, thirteen Gold Squadron Y-Wings, and twenty Yellow and Blue Squadrons had reported in. Somewhere in the middle of all of the call signs, Sam heard a different voice that startled him enough that he flinched in his seat.

 _“Sam, may the Force be with you.”_ It sounded exactly like Castiel. Sam shook his head, positive he was hearing things, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

 _It was just a memory_ , he thought, and focused his attention on the real voices coming across the comms.

“Lock S-foils in attack position,” Mills ordered.

Sam flipped a few switches and made the proper adjustments on his console. The wings on his ship split apart, like the other X-Wings in front and behind him, unfolding and readying for battle. His breath hitched and his heart fluttered beneath his ribs.

“We’re about to pass through the magnetic field,” said Dean. “Everybody hold on.”

On cue, Sam’s ship shuddered and rumbled. He thought back to when he’d been on board the _Impala_ with Bela, Bobby, and Ree, the ship getting forcibly drawn to the Death Star. They’d been helpless, sliding towards certain doom. He smiled at the memory, thinking about how far he’d come. Their small ships were bypassing the tractor beam that was meant for large vessels, and while there was quite possibly still some ‘doom’ involved, he was definitely not helpless.

“Hoo-wee,” Ash drawled and whistled low. “She’s damn gigantic!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it…” Red Seven, Sam was pretty sure, murmured in awe. She sounded as frightened of the thing as Sam had been when he’d first laid eyes on the Death Star.

“Keep it down, boys and girls,” Jo cut in, her voice all business. Sam could hear a tiny tremor there but only because he knew her so well. “Deflectors on – double front.”

“Accelerate to attack speed,” said Dean. “Squad 1, cut across the axis – hopefully you can draw their fire.”

“Copy, Gold Leader,” Mills replied.

“Squad 2, with me. Let’s make a run for that damn shaft.”

“Copy,” Benny acknowledged, as did two of his Y-Wing counterparts.

Sam followed the members of his squad diving towards the Death Star’s surface. This close up, it resembled a metallic city, all squares and angles, peppered with sparkling lights. He directed his ship low and a second later, turbo-lasers streaked and burst past him.

“Here they come!” he called out over the din.

He shoved on his controls, steering his X-Wing expertly around the gun emplacements. He could feel the Force singing in his veins and he let it move through him, guiding his instincts. He fired at the surface of the Star in a haphazard pattern and swung right to avoid a hail of lasers.

A massive fireball exploded in front of him, breaking his concentration. With a gasp, Sam wrenched on his controls to avoid it. At the speed he was going, this was going to end badly.

“Sam!” Jo shouted.

Sam arced away from the fireball, skimming through the outermost part of it. His readings jumped, indicating his hull had been scorched a bit, but everything was otherwise fine – that’d been too close.

“I’m okay, Jo,” he assured her, exhaling. “Singed ‘er a little.”

“Don’t do that again,” she said.

 _No need to tell me twice,_ Sam thought. He twisted his ship around to avoid another volley of lasers, and tore off to join a fellow pilot who was ravaging a number of radar emplacements and towers.

“Watch yourself kids,” Mills warned. “There’s a helluva beating coming from that deflection tower.”

Sam spun his ship to the left. “I’ve got it, Red Leader.”

He found the tower in question and let loose on it. Flak thundered past his hull, buffeting his ship, but Sam fired back and pushed his ship in a winding dive around the tower. The Imperials guns couldn’t follow him fast enough and a second later, Sam’s shots delivered a fatal blow. The tower erupted in a column of flames.

“Sweet shootin’ there, Harvelle!” Ash exclaimed.

Sam grinned. “It’s… Winchester, actually.” Somehow, it was strange but so very right to be saying that out loud.

“Wait, what?” said Ash.

Jo laughed. “It’s a long story.”

“Squads, come in,” Anna’s voice, coming from the control hub down on Yavin’s moon, crackled over the comms. “We’re reading a whole new batch of signals. The Emperor is retaliating – keep your heads up. Enemy fighters are headed your way.”

“S’only ‘cause they can’t hit us with them damn big’un guns,” Ash said with a chuckle.

“Well, whaddya know, we got ‘em on the ropes,” chimed in Red Nine.

Sam frowned at his console, his eyes darting between the displays and controls. “My scopes are empty – anybody got a read on these fighters?”

“They’re jamming us all to hell,” said Mills. “Keep visual scanning – chances are, they’ll be tryin’ to ram one up your ass before your scopes pick ‘em up.”

“Thanks for the visual,” remarked Red Eleven dryly. Mills laughed.

Sam checked over both his shoulders and flicked his eyes out over the Death Star’s exterior. He pulled his ship around wide, climbing away from the grey expanse that was riddled with smoke-belching craters. Far out and straight ahead, silhouetted against the flickering lights of the battle station, Sam spotted a dozen fighters screaming towards them.

“Incoming, point oh-twelve,” he relayed.

“I see ‘em,” Mills said.

The fighters dispersed, scattering across the Star towards the Rebel fighters. Sam punched his engines and jetted after one that was headed in Jo’s direction.

 _Oh no you don’t_ , he thought viciously, gunning his X-Wing.

“Damn it!” Mills cursed. “Ash, you got one your tail!”

“I can’t see ‘im,” complained Ash.

Sam locked his sights on one of the Imperial TIE fighters, keeping half his attention on the comm chatter and Ash’s situation, and fired his guns. The fighter spun away from Jo’s ship to avoid Sam’s lasers, but Sam wasn’t about to let him go.

“Damn son, he’s on me tight,” said Ash, a note of panic coloring his voice.

“I’m coming for you,” said Red Seven. “Hold on.”

“Hurry the hell up!”

Sam closed in on the TIE fighter and fired again, zig-zagging sharply to match the Imperial’s evasive maneuvers. He connected with the enemy ship’s engines, sending it spinning to the Star’s face below. It erupted in a fantastic ball of fire and Sam allowed himself a quick grin.

“Shit, shit…” Red Seven swore and Sam glanced with worry out his window, but couldn’t see the pilot that was in trouble.

“Madison, where the in the damn hell are you?” Ash barked.

Before she could reply, there was a crackle of interference that indicated a friendly ship had been lost. Sam caught a glimpse an explosion far ahead and to his left, and banked his X-Wing towards it. He felt a pang of loss as the shrapnel of Seven’s fighter drifted out from the fiery flare, but if she was gone, somebody needed to rescue Ash.

“I can’t shake him!” Ash yelled.

Sam could see his friend’s X-Wing flying erratically, up and down and farther away from the melee, but the TIE fighter on his tail matched him almost move for move. The Imperial appeared to be just short of firing range, otherwise Sam had no doubt he’d have lit Ash up by now. A second Imperial, possibly the one that’d taken out Seven, was closing in tight behind the first one.

“I’m behind you, Ash,” said Sam, hoping he sounded calm.

“Shoot ‘im already!”

Sam came in hot, flying at both TIE fighters’ exposed right wings, and firing fast and hard. Before they could correct their blind spot, Sam had nicked one of them and blasted the other. His own X-Wing zoomed over the detonating TIE fighter as it engulfed the other that had been flying close to it. Ash’s ship zipped down low then shot far across the Star’s surface to escape the duel eruptions.

“Hot damn!” he said with relief. “Thanks a lot, Sam.”

“Any time,” Sam replied, and exhaled.

“Three down, only about a million more to go,” said Jo grimly.

Sam turned his ship in a wide arc and spotted another wave of incoming TIE fighters. His stomach dropped. They’d hardly made a dent in the first batch.

This was going to be a long battle.

 

~

 

Dean listened to the comm chatter with half an ear as he skimmed along the Death Star in search of the trench. He knew which grid they needed, but it’d sure looked smaller when he’d been studying holographic plans. He effortlessly veered around a set of gun turrets sluggishly pumping turbo-lasers in his direction.

At least the diversion was working – while the Red and Blue squads kept the TIE fighters busy, Dean and a select few of the Gold squad were able to search for the target shaft. He wondered if the appearance of the fighters meant the Emperor had realized his big guns designed for cruisers were almost laughably easy to avoid in a snubfighter.

He couldn’t help smirking a little when Benny swore loudly and said, “Man, heads up on those towers!”

“Almost clipped me too, the buggers,” came Gold Two’s Core-accented grumble.

 _Okay, so maybe it’s just me_ , Dean thought.

Finally, he spotted the section they were looking for and steered his X-Wing down into it. Two Y-Wings, including Benny, followed. He switched comm channels so he could communicate directly with the Red squad.

“Red Leader, this is Gold Leader,” said Dean. He bumped up his speed and tightened his grip on the controls. “We’re starting our attack run.”

“’Bout time,” Mills said. “I was startin’ to worry you’d fell asleep.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked. “Relax, Mills, you’ll get your turn.”

He steadied his ship in the trench and felt his heartrate ratchet up. There wasn’t a lot of room to move in this trench should enemy ships close in on them. Just to be safe, he poured on a little more speed. Of course, that meant pulling out at the end of the trench was going to be a bit of a bitch, but he’d worry about that when he got there.

“In formation, boss,” Benny reported.

Dean flipped back to the other frequency. “Copy, Gold Five.”

His eyes flicked to the readout on his left. It showed that his ship was headed in the correct direction as deemed by the techs down on the ground with Star’s maps spread out before them.

“Port’s locked in,” he added.

Laserfire streaked overhead, as much a blur as the gray sides of the trench. Blasts of flak rocked his ship and Dean swiftly adjusted his shields so the majority of his power was in the front deflector.

“We makin’ bets on guns?” he inquired conversationally.

“S’pose,” Benny replied. “Usual?”

“Of course.” Dean dipped his fighter a little to avoid a barrage from a laser cannon.

“Eighteen, split surface and towers,” said Benny.

Dean _hmm_ ed. “I think it’s more than that, easy. Twenty-seven, split. Hannah?” He scanned his scopes, which were sputtering unhelpfully because of all the jamming. He glanced over his shoulder to physically look for enemy fighters and cussed under breath – three had broken off from the main pack tangling with the Reds and Blues to come after them.

“I’m not playing,” Gold Two, Hannah, moaned.

“Come on…” Benny wheedled.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Twenty-one, split – higher on the surface.”

Dean flipped channels. “Mills. Guns in the grid?”

He checked over his shoulder again for the Imperials. _Crap_. They were still coming. He stabilized his rear deflector to protect his back and nudged his engine on. He noted his partners did the same to keep pace.

He switched to the Gold-only channel. “Behind and up,” he said quickly before flipping back to the Red frequency.

Mills asked, “Up and working, smoking heap, or all together?”

“All together.” Dean held on tightly under a fresh onslaught of laserfire coming at them down the trench. The TIE fighters roared behind him.

“We count twenty-eight, even.”

“Thanks.” Another quick glance at the fighters showed they were following them from above rather than behind. Dean scrunched his brow. What were they waiting for, an invitation?

“Who lost?” He could hear the smile in Mills’ voice.

Dean chuckled. “Not me.”

“Darn. One of these times, Winchester…”

Dean laughed again as he flipped back to the Gold frequency. Above and behind, the TIE fighters were in range but still holding back on firing. Dean’s stomach twisted with nerves as he tried to discern what they were waiting for.

“I am _not_ flying naked,” Hannah stated, realizing she’d lost.

Dean couldn’t help snickering loudly. “You know Ash loses on purpose because he _likes_ flying naked and it pisses Jo off, right?” he said. “He’s a genius – he knows how many there are before anybody’s even thought about counting.”

He flipped on his targeting computer. A small rectangle attached to a metal arm extended in front of him. Dean pulled it close so it covered one of his eyes.

“Targeting computer is locked,” he relayed. The display was blue, black, and white, showing the trench as a series of clean lines. At the bottom, the distance from his ship to the target in a flickering countdown.

“Well, good for Ash,” Hannah grumbled and huffed. “I get all sweaty and stick to the seat. I’m not…” She sighed. “New bet?”

Benny hooted with laughter and Dean grinned. It was a good second before the three of them realized the trench had become eerily quiet.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered suspiciously. He kept one eye on the targeting computer, the other on the gray trench walls whizzing by.

“Why’d they stop the guns?” Hannah wondered.

“Ah, so they don’t shoot their cousins, I s’pect,” Benny commented. “They’re coming in now – three marks at two ten.”

Dean looked away from the computer for a moment to crane his neck around. The three TIE fighters that had been hovering were now diving. Sweat broke out on Dean’s forehead and he cursed. The X-Wing he was piloting probably had a chance at outrunning the Imperials, but Benny and Hannah’s Y’s were built for power over speed. And with minimal room to maneuver in this damn trench…

“Hey, don’t fret, brother,” Benny said calmly. “We got you covered.”

“Just stay on target,” Hannah agreed, though her voice trembled.

With a frown, Dean pressed his right eye against the targeting computer again. “I only need a minute.”

“Then we’ll give you a minute,” Benny promised.

The TIE fighters fired, and Benny and Hannah did their best to gently weave back and forth, up and down in the narrow trench. Moving at all was dangerous since the trench boxed them in and their vehicles were moving so fast. The Imperials flew to match them, though one of them made a catastrophic mistake, steering too far to the left and clipping the side of the trench.

“Hold on!” Benny hollered.

The Imperial over-corrected and went slamming in the opposite wall, nearly taking out one of its teammates in the process. The shockwave that rattled Dean’s ship was intense and quick. Alarms went off in his cockpit, informing him that the strength of his rear shields had decreased. He held tight to his controls so his own ship didn’t veer towards the trench sides.

The distance counter on his computer was decreasing rapidly but not fast enough. He knew the more they accelerated, the more dangerous exiting was going to be, but with Imperials riding their ass, he hardly had a choice.

“Let’s try to outrun ‘em,” he said.

Worry snaked into his chest – he hoped the Y’s could even _go_ this fast and that Benny and Hannah could still manage them if they did. They were some of the best pilots in the Alliance, but the Y was not an easy beast to handle. They were also the only ships they had. Knowing the Emperor was right outside their door, the Rebels were putting everything they could into this assault. If this raid failed, the Star would blow them away anyways.

“Come on, come on,” Dean grumbled, watching the numbers on his computer count down. He glanced back at his friends and the enemy ships only to see that he was starting to slowly pull away from the others. “Damn it!”

“Fly true, brother, we’ve got your back,” Benny assured him.

“Just hold them for a few seconds,” said Dean. He could feel sweat sliding down the side of his face as laserfire erupted somewhere behind him. _Come on, hurry up, hurry up…_

“It’s too tight in here,” Hannah squeaked. “They’re right on top of us!”

“Stay calm, H,” said Benny.

“We can’t hold them! Loosen up, Benny!”

“Come on, come _on_ , damn it…” Dean murmured, his heart battering his chest. He was almost there…

Hannah shrieked, “My shields! Somebody do som–”

Dean glanced back just in time to see Gold Two explode into blazing debris. He lashed out, punching the roof of his cockpit.

“Tell me we’re close, brother,” said Benny. This time his voice was shaking even though Dean knew he was trying to mask it.

“A few seconds,” Dean promised. The distance indicated on his targeting computer had dropped to four digits and was falling faster than ever… Dean held his breath. Three…

“Dean…” Benny’s voice rose in warning.

 _There_.

“I got it!” Dean exclaimed, firing his torpedoes. The moment they’d left his ship, Dean hauled back on his ship’s steering to pull out of the trench, narrowly avoiding becoming a smear on the exhaust port’s wall. His heart walloped into his throat.

Benny was right behind him, spinning away from the Star and the enemy fighters, skimming the top edge of the port wall in a shower of sparks. He whooped.

“Hit’s away!” Dean exclaimed.

There was a brief cheer from the other pilots, and Dean looked down to see his handiwork, only to see a tiny explosion. His grin dropped away.

“Wait, false alarm – it only impacted the surface. Damn it!” A hail of laserfire buffeted his ship. The Imperial ships that had dogged him and Benny in the trench were still on his tail. Dean wrenched his controls, spinning away from them.

He caught sight of Benny’s Y-Wing diving, and for a second, thought he was simply evading the fighters. Then he realized there was a column of smoke trailing behind him, and before Dean could call out over the comms for his friend, Benny’s ship collided with the Death Star’s surface. The blast shook Dean’s ship, momentarily blinding in its brilliance.

Tears stung Dean’s eyes. They’d all known death was high possibility on this mission. Somehow, Dean hadn’t really believed it would happen to those he was close to.

He heard Bela’s voice in his the back of his mind, calling this endeavour ‘suicidal’, and felt sick to his stomach. Another Rebel ship went down in a screaming spiral of flames beside him as he deftly avoided getting shot down himself. There was panic on the comms indicating Novak in Red Nine was hit and losing control of his vessel, and then Mills was hit by enemy fire as well.

Dean swallowed. Maybe Bela’d been right after all.

 

~

 

Alarms blared from every direction, the command center bustling with activity as officers ran from station to station. There were reports of collapsing hallways, fires, and an increasing list of casualties from all the lower decks.

Lucifer stood by the window, still and calm as ever.

“Sir,” Roman, out of breath, hurried up beside the Emperor. “According to the analysts, even with the ship-to-ship attacks, the small Rebel vehicles pose an incredible danger and they are already inflicting significant damage. Shall I give the evacuation order?”

Lucifer smiled. Sometimes these kids were so small-minded. He closed his eyes and could still Yavin disintegrating in a sensational, cataclysmic ball of fire.

“Roman, don’t you think we should stick around to watch our victory unfold firsthand?” He fixed the general with a patronizing smile. “Cool your jets, hombre. I _have_ forseen this, you know.”

“But sir, a small group has broken off from the main assault unit and they almost infiltrated – ”

“Trust me. You’re giving them too much credit.”

Roman’s lips thinned and he tossed in one last report about a ship crashing into the main hangar bay. Apparently there’d been a series of explosions that had reached the fuelling tanks for the TIE fighters, and now they were unable to send out more ships.

Lucifer remained unconcerned. He figured they’d sent out enough to give the Rebels a run for their money, and anyways, they were like, five minutes away from blowing them to kingdom come, so what did it matter?

“Honestly, Roman,” said Lucifer. “Don’t you have something useful to do right now?”

Roman’s jaw ticked but he gave a curt nod and rushed off back to his station. Lucifer turned his eyes to the forward viewscreen to watch the battle. A tinny voice sounded overhead, informing them that Yavin’s fourth moon was drawing ever closer as the Star orbited the planet.

“ _Rebel base will be in range in three minutes._ ”


	36. Chapter 36

“If you pick one up, watch it!” Mills shouted as Red Nine’s ship became a memory, following Ten’s destruction a half-second before.

Sam rolled his ship, swerving right and under a pair of incoming TIE fighters. His entire world had narrowed to this battle, these pilots around him, friend and foe. He tore after the fighter who’d tried to take him out, centering the Imperial in his crosshairs.

The longer the battle wore on, the more exhausted Sam felt. He’d been focused and strong at the beginning, able to remember Cas’ lessons and let the Force guide him. But then he’d watched friends go down, and his ship had been jostled and clipped, he’d scraped through a few close calls, and he couldn’t stop worrying about Jo and Dean out in the chaos. It became impossible to focus on his training, so he fell back on his piloting instincts and prayed he made it through.

“The Gold raid was unsuccessful,” Anna told them, breaking into the chatter. “Red Leader, are you set for your attack run?”

Sam blew the TIE fighter away. He didn’t take a second to savour his minor victory, instead spinning his ship around to find more prey, dodging a Blue Squad ship that was blazing out of control. It was starting to feel like his allies were dropping like flies in an endless tide of TIE fighters.

“Shit no,” Mills replied. “I’m hit – not bad, but I’m no good in there. Steering’s half-shot, but I’m not dead yet. I can still provide cover and kick some Imperial ass.”

Sam streaked by her ship, which had one smoking engine but was flying otherwise unharmed. He grimaced.

“Mills, maybe you should head back – ”

“I ain’t leavin’,” she snapped firmly.

“Sam Harvelle-chester! Josephine!” Ash called out. “Let’s go for it! Rendezvous at mark six point one.”

Sam bit down a laugh and turned his ship in a sharp arc to meet up with Ash. Jo was going to murder him.

“You call me by my full name one more time, _Ashland_ _Marga –_ ” Jo growled, but Ash cut her off with a cackle. Sam didn’t bother to try to hide his own smile – she couldn’t see it.

“You come too, Henriksen,” said Ash. “Join our grand ol’ raiding party.”

Red Eleven dodged a pair of Imperials and spun off from the main group. “On it!”

Sam found Ash’s X-Wing outside the melee and fell in behind him with Jo and Red Eleven.

“And the gang’s all here! Alrighty, this is Red Two, with Five, Three an’ Eleven, and we’re goin’ in. The rest of you hang back and keep the bastards off our behinds.” He punched his ship into a steep dive, and Sam followed, his nerves jangling.

The four of them charged for the trench as Dean’s lone X-Wing shot past them towards the major firefight. Sam’s stomach twisted, seeing him without Benny’s accompanying Y-Wing.

“Watch your tails,” Dean warned over the comms. “As soon as we got down there, they came at us from – shit! Behind!”

Sam turned to look so fast, his neck cracked. Four Imperials fighters in a tight formation careened towards him and the knot of Rebels he was flying with.

“Incoming!” Sam yelled. “Point three five!”

“Just hold them off for a couple minutes!” said Ash, gunning his engines.

Sam really thought this was easier said than done. The foursome dove towards the trench, the Imperials hot on their heels, and Dean whizzing around to follow them. Lasers from the towers stormed down the trench, this time heedless of their peers. Sam ground his teeth together as flak exploded and jerked his ship. He held tight to his controls, staying level with Jo on his right. Henriksen hovered behind Sam.

“Targeting computer is on and locked,” relayed Ash.

“There’s no way we can hold them!” Henriksen said, his voice brimming with panic.

Sam glanced behind him where the Imperials were opening fire. Henriksen swerved and nearly clipped the side of the trench in his haste. A few laser bolts slammed into Sam’s shields. He clung to his controls.

“I’m coming!” Dean promised.

There was a sharp cry of fear over the comms and then a blast rocked Sam’s X-Wing. He barely managed to maintain control of his steering, his wing edging dangerously close to the trench walls.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled.

Sam didn’t need to look to know that Henriksen was gone.

“Ash – status!” Jo demanded.

“Hold tight,” he replied.

“We’re not gonna have anything to hold on to in a minute here,” said Sam.

“I’ve got you, Sammy,” Dean assured him.

There was another explosion behind Sam and he exhaled. _One Imperial down…_

“Faster would be better!” said Jo edgily. Then he heard her gasp, and out of the corner of his eye saw her ship fumble. His streaked past and lost sight of her.

“Jo!” Sam screamed. He twisted to look, caught sight of flames, and quickly turned his eyes forward again, barely stopping himself from smashing into the trench wall. He sucked in a sharp breath and realized Dean was calling for Jo as well. His heart smashed against his ribs.

“Where is she?” Sam demanded. “Does anyone see Red Three?”

“I saw her take a hit,” said Dean. “I ganked one of the Imperial bastards at the same moment – I saw her fall back to the explosion – I – I don’t know where – ”

“Does anyone see Red Three?” Sam repeated almost hysterically. _Not Jo, not Jo, anyone but Jo…_ The image of Ellen’s body flashed through his mind and Sam couldn’t breathe. Flak burst against his hull and he blinked against his stinging eyes, fighting to stay in control.

“We’re not showing her signal anywhere,” Anna relayed sadly.

Sam struggled to hold his ship steady. Another blast shuddered his X-Wing and he couldn’t help picturing that it was Dean’s ship that’d just went up. He gripped the ship controls hard, trying to stop his fingers from shaking, trying not to throw up…

 _Breathe, Sam_. He heard Castiel’s voice, warm and gentle and almost as if he were right there. _Focus._ But Sam couldn’t, not if Jo was dead, and Dean was dead, how in the hell was ever supposed to –

 _Let go. Focus_.

“Almost there…” said Ash.

Sam could’ve sworn in that moment he felt the Force nudge him, even though he hadn’t called on it, and like a slap in the face, it yanked him away from his grief. Ash still needed him. Mills and the others. Jo would – _would have_ killed him if he got himself killed as well, if he let them die. He hadn’t been able to save her (he tried to breathe, couldn’t remember it ever being so hard before), but maybe he could save the rest of them.

 _You can do this, Sam._ Sam wasn’t consciously picturing his master’s voice, yet there it was, wonderfully comforting and clear. He leaned into it, leaned into the memories to give him strength. He pictured the Force, glowing threads of light and power, snaking into his hands and he relaxed his grip. He could do this.

“Shit, I can’t nail the last one,” Dean growled over the comms, and Sam almost choked on the relief he felt at hearing his brother’s voice. “Look out!”

Sam’s X-Wing was suddenly rocked by a violent blast – a direct hit that crashed against his shields, and burned across the top of his ship. His shields were now dangerously low – another hit like that and he was dead.

“Sammy, get outta there!” Dean yelled, but Sam wasn’t about to leave Ash, who was closing in on the target, even as the laserfire outside intensified.

Then the decision was made for him as Ash screamed and his ship splintered. Sam instinctively hauled on his controls, pulling his ship straight up out of the trench. He tore through the fire and wreckage left by Ash and alarms wailed in his cockpit.

“Sam!” Dean bellowed in alarm. “ _Sammy!”_

 

~

 

Bobby covered his eyes with his hands. He couldn’t stand sitting here, helpless. He should’ve been up there with the boys where he could protect them. Anna had asked him to stay on the ground with her for tactical support, and agreeing to it hadn’t been a decision he’d made lightly, but in the end he’d decided it was smarter. Although the longer the battle went on, the more Bobby regretted staying.

“Sam!” Dean called out frantically. “Sammy!”

Bobby breathlessly waited for a reply.

“I’m here,” Sam’s voice finally came back.

Bobby dropped his hands, looking to Anna. She was paler than usual as her eyes flicked across the command table at the displays of the raging battle.

“Damn, I thought I’d lost you,” Dean exhaled heavily.

“Not yet,” Sam returned, sounding less shaky than he probably should have, Bobby thought.

With all the fighters the Star had deployed, the casualties were extremely heavy. They’d lost a dozen of the supporting Yellow and Blue Squadron pilots, as well almost all of the Gold Squad. That was wasn’t even counting the vast number of Red that continued to do battle, with far too many of their signals blinking out of existence.

“Dean, I’m gonna close this up,” said Sam. “We’re out of time.”

Dean was less than enthusiastic about this plan, but didn’t have the luxury of time to argue.

“Who’s left?” asked Sam.

“I’ve stabilized,” chimed in Mills. “Let’s do this.”

“Okay, but we’re going in hard – full throttle,” Sam instructed and Bobby’s gut lurched. That sounded like a helluva a bad idea to him.

“We go in that hot, we’re gonna be bugs on a windshield, kid,” Mills warned.

 _My point exactly_ , Bobby thought grimly.

Bobby heard the smile in Sam’s voice when he replied, “It’s gonna be just like Beggar’s Canyon back home.”

He wasn’t sure whether he ought to be proud or terrified and was definitely both. He’d missed years of Sam’s childhood, but he’d seen enough and certainly watched from afar when he could. He knew the kind of out-of-this-world piloting skills Sam possessed. Bobby didn’t know anyone that good, even John, who’d been the best of the best. If anyone could do this, Bobby believed it was Sam. ‘Course, that didn’t stop him from feeling completely nauseous at the idea of Sam being their literal last hope in this fight for freedom, once and for all.

One of the techs informed them that the Death Star would be in range of the base in less than two minutes, her fingers flying over a massive keyboard. Bobby and Anna locked gazes and Bobby fought down a fresh wave of nausea.

So this was it: two minutes to live. Two minutes until the galaxy was either saved or doomed. Two measly goddamn minutes.

“Come on, boys,” he murmured.

 

~

 

Sam plunged his ship back down into the dreaded trench and this time he pushed his speed far more than he had the first time. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, making his heart pound in his ears and his tingling fingertips. If this didn’t work, it was all over – he was dead, Dean and the remaining pilots, the Rebels, everything. Everything they’d worked for would be flames and debris and the Empire would have won.

Sam wasn’t going to let that happen. Not without a fight.

“Geez, Sam, how the hell do you expect to hit the port at this speed?” Mills asked worriedly.

Laserfire erupted around them, shaking Sam’s X-Wing. His shields were still uncomfortably low, but holding.

“And with that damn tower!”

There was a screech and Sam glanced back to see a trio of Imperials already on their tail, peppering the air with lasers.

“You worry about the tower,” instructed Dean sharply. “I’ll worry about these bastards!”

Sam accelerated. “Watch yourself! I’m not losing you!”

“Don’t worry, Sammy, we got this,” said Dean confidently.

Sam’s chest fluttered with worry. _Don’t say that_ , he thought. _Don’t make a promise you can’t keep_. He fought off a wave of emotion, forcing his mind away from Jo, and instead pressed the button to engage his targeting computer. _Focus. Breathe._

There was a barrage from behind and Sam wrestled with controls as the rectangle extended and hovered in front of his eye. Sweat soaked his forehead as he pressed his face to the display, watching the distance counter race down.

“Damn it, my stabilizer’s loose again,” Mills reported angrily.

“Hold on, Mills,” said Dean.

“Yeah, I’m trying – they’re comin’ in way faster than before!”

Sam’s breath was shaky. _Come on, come on, come on_ …

“Jody, watch it!” Dean snapped, but to no avail as Red Leader was hit and smashed headlong into the trench’s floor.

Sam blinked against the moisture in his eyes as his X-Wing was buffeted by the shockwave. _Breathe_.

“Okay, Sammy, it’s just us,” Dean said somberly. “Push it as fast you can. Let’s end this.”

Sam nodded, his mouth bone dry. He distantly realized Dean couldn’t see his nod, but was too busy pushing his ship even harder. His ship shook, and there were warning lights on his dash, though nothing critical, so he ignored them.

“Damn it all to hell…” Dean murmured. Sam chanced a look back and saw his brother’s X-Wing weaving dangerously behind him, trying in vain to keep the pursing Imperials at bay.

Sam returned his focus to the computer. He thought of the times he and Jo used to race around the valleys and canyons, the dunes, and the way she’d screech when he made impossible hairpin turns. He remembered when Ellen would scold him for trying to take out the speeder when he was too young to drive. All he’d wanted to do was impress Jess, the little blonde girl from the moisture farm next door.

He thought about his birth parents, the Jedi and the pilot, and Ellen’s smile and Jo’s laugh and the way Dean’s eyes crinkled when he was trying to be serious but holding in a laugh. His mind raced with images of leaving Tatooine and Bobby and battle and Cloud City and Azazel and the snow on Hoth and Bela and…

_Breathe, Sam._

And then he thought about Dagobah, about the rocks and swamp and Castiel’s calming voice…

 _Use the Force, Sam_. _Let go…_

Sam’s grip tightened, his sweaty hands quivering against the X-Wing’s controls. No, the voice wasn’t a memory, he finally realized. His breath hitched. Somehow, inexplicably, Cas was _here_. Sam couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it – he could sense it in the Force, could feel the Force settle around his shoulders like a comforting blanket and he had the urge to cry. He could picture the light again, could sense the Force and Cas’ presence all around him.

_Let go, Sam. Trust me._

So with trembling fingers, Sam reached out and pushed the targeting computer away so his view of the trench was unobstructed, gray walls blurring by. He readjusted his grip and he took a slow, deep breath, feeling the Force surge into him, around him, through him.

“Sam? What’s going on?” Anna burst in. “Is something wrong with your computer?”

“No,” Sam replied, his voice amazingly calm.

“They’re fifteen seconds out!” a tech in the background called hysterically.

Sam breathed slow and deep again, listening to Castiel. _Let go._ _Stretch out with your feelings…_ It was just like playing against the remote with his lightsaber, like balancing rocks, like lifting the X-Wing…

Flak thundered around Sam’s hull and he pushed his ship to the breaking point. Alarms blared, the X-Wing shook. He was almost there, _almost there._

“Sammy, we’re outta time!”

 

~

 

The red-headed tech turned around in her seat, all the color washed out of her features. “The Death Star’s cleared the planet.”

Anna nodded somberly.

Bobby’s shoulders sank. His eyes tracked the two blue signals flying fiercely through the hologram trench, ever pursued by a trio of red ones. He closed his eyes and braced himself for darkness.

 

~

 

“Rebel base is in range.”

“Excellent,” Lucifer cracked his knuckles and flicked his hand in the direction of the battle command station. “Fire when you’re ready, kiddo. We have them.”

He spread his arms before him, exhilarated to see Yavin detonate, to imagine the heat and feel the shockwave of loss and terror in the Force…

 

~

 

“Shit – he clipped me!” Dean snapped.

He grappled with his controls. At this speed, an inch the wrong way was a massive mistake. He gritted his teeth – his arms were aching from the effort of not dying. He threw a quick look over his shoulder at the three TIE fighters on his ass and swore again for good measure.

He was utterly fucked and he knew it. He only hoped Sam would have the chance to make the critical shot before he was iced too – though, if he was being honest, he’d been ready to sacrifice himself if it came down to it. Which, based on the way those bastards were firing, was going to be any second now. He could only outfly them in this tight space for so long before –

The explosion was close enough to make his teeth rattle, but it wasn’t him and it wasn’t Sam. He let out a surprised laugh, thinking one of the remaining Reds had managed to break away from the Imperial onslaught to rescue them.

“Miss me, darling?”

Never in his entire life had been happier to hear Bela’s voice. Literally _never._

Dean’s face broke into a grin and he couldn’t even begin to catalogue the emotion storming through him in that moment. Rather than trying, he simply replied, “You’re late.”

“You’re slow,” she shot back, and he could hear the bright smile in her voice. His heart leapt – he couldn’t stop another surprised laugh.

Behind him, there was another blast that jostled him, but a glance over his shoulder revealed a lack of fighters. He caught a glimpse of his beloved _Impala_ soaring overhead and his grin widened.

“All clear for the moment,” Bela reported casually. “Now, Sam, would you be a dear and end this? I have somewhere else to be.”

 

~

 

_What the hell?_

An image flashed before Lucifer’s eyes and he blinked in surprise. The vision that he’d been having suddenly warped, like a rock thrown into a still pond, and then he saw an anomaly. Something he had never accounted for, something variable that had changed and upset the balance of things, had thrown the future into chaos.

The ripples settled and now it wasn’t Yavin and its moons he saw turning into space dust.

Lucifer tilted his head back in surprise. “Well, shit.”

 

~

 

Sam felt it before he saw it – the opening to the port – and he let loose the torpedoes on instinct. He slammed on the controls of his X-Wing until he was screaming out of the trench, Dean right behind him. He glanced down at the Death Star’s surface and exhaled in a rush.

_It went in._

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Dean ordered over the comms, and Sam punched his ship into a wide arc to retreat with the other surviving Rebels.

Behind him, a series of blasts erupted and Sam felt his heart hammering in his throat. _He did it._ He gunned his engines, chasing after the _Impala_ and had a moment to feel a burst of affection towards Bela and Ree – they’d come back! As he flew, however, he noted there were far too few ships escaping the Death Star’s surface. He didn’t think there were more than a dozen, if that, and the realization made his heart lurch again as he thought of Jo.

 _But we did it,_ he thought, an odd mix of grief and euphoria. Sam only wished Jo had been able to see it.

 _Remember,_ came Castiel’s voice once again, as Sam and the Rebels made for home. _The Force will be with you, Sam._

_Always._

 

~

 

As the Rebel ships curved out of sight behind the yellow planet of Yavin, the Death Star’s core failed spectacularly. The torpedoes did exactly what the computer said they would, initiating a catastrophic chain reaction that tore the station apart.

The Death Star burst into a massive supernova, as bright as a sun just for an instant, with debris fanning out in a fiery ring.

The Empire had fallen.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot tip: don’t listen to [“Moving On” by Michael Giacchino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJ5M7w7Z180) while reading the last half of this chapter unless you enjoy ugly sobbing. You'll know where I'm referring to.

The noise level in the hangar bay was absolutely deafening when Sam disembarked his battered and scorched ship. The bay was filled to the brim with all the members of the Alliance on Yavin’s moon and it was a sea of applauding, cheering, crying faces.

Sam was enveloped the second his feet touched the ground – embraces and handshakes and pats on the back, and a hundred voices all saying things and shouting things and combining into one gloriously overwhelming din. He was smiling so much his face hurt, but it was nothing compared to the grin he sported when Dean shoved his way through the crowd to tug Sam into a bone-crushing hug.

Sam hugged him back for all he was worth and tears squeezed out of his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“You did it, Sammy,” Dean was saying in his ear and slapping his back. “You did it.”

Sam laughed through his tears and before he replied, Jo was there too, and the rest of the bay disappeared for him as he choked on air.

“Jo!” he exclaimed, grabbing her arms roughly, as if she’d disintegrate before his eyes. “You’re – Jo, you’re okay!”

She beamed at him, her face flushed with excitement and emotion. “They winged me, and I spiralled out, but I recovered – Sam, my comms were dead, so I couldn’t – I’m sorry, I tried, I –”

Sam yanked her close to him, wrapping his arms around her much smaller frame and muffling the rest of her explanation into his chest. This time the tears that splashed against his cheeks were pure relief. When he let her pull back, she was still beaming at him.

“I limped back – landed rough outside. Only got in here as you guys were coming back.”

Sam didn’t care how – he’d get the details later – only that she was alive and well and right here, right now. He laughed, because he didn’t know what else to do, and then Dean was hugging her fiercely like he never wanted to let go, and Sam spotted Ree’s tall green form pushing through the euphoric throng. When she got close enough, she embraced Sam and he hugged her back, and they weren’t close but hugging everyone seemed to be the thing to do in the haze of victory as the cheering and celebration continued around them.

Bela emerged right behind her co-pilot and Sam’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, eyes sparkling, her smile wide and as pretty as ever.

He leaned in to tell her, “I knew there was more to you than money!”

She placed her finger on his lips. “Not so loud, Sam, I have a reputation to uphold!” She winked at him and opened her arms to give him a quick hug.

With her lips close to his ear, she murmured, “Turns out I care about something in this galaxy after all. How about that, yeah?”

Even though he knew she wasn’t referring to him, his stomach jumped. When she pulled back and turned towards Dean, he knew as he’d known all along that her despite her flirtation with him, she’d only ever had eyes for Dean.

Dean didn’t seem to know quite how to react to Bela. His eyes jumped across her form and back to her face. They seemed to cycle through a number of emotions that Sam couldn’t quite decipher and couldn’t care to try, not now.

“You know,” said Dean, neutral and holding back _so very much_. “I was _about_ to do something blindingly heroic. Probably a Crazy Ivan. And then you came in and stole my moment. Thief.”

“Darling, even _I_ couldn’t pull off a Crazy Ivan.” Bela tilted her head slightly. “And I recall _you_ swearing up and down that you’d honestly shoot me the next time you saw my lovely face, yet here we are and I am quite un-shot. Liar.”

Dean smirked. “You just couldn’t pass up the chance for glory and riches, could you? I knew it. You’re so predictable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Dean, do shut up.” She grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him towards her until his lips met hers.

Dean smiled against her mouth and his arm snaked around her waist as he kissed her back.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh – he was _never_ going to be able to figure those two out.

Then Bobby was there, pushing and hobbling between the jumping, ecstatic crowd, and Sam’s heart leapt again. Bobby’s eyes were glistening and Sam hurried forward to embrace him. The older man held Sam tightly for a moment before easing back and cupping his cheek with a calloused hand.

“I knew you could do it,” Bobby said, his gruff voice wobbling with emotion. “You’re one of Mary and John’s sons and I knew you would save us.”

And there was that look again – the one Castiel used to give him back on Dagobah that had made Sam feel inadequate and heavy, like he was holding the galaxy in the palm of his hand and it was his job alone to save it.

Except now it didn’t make Sam suffocate, breathless with responsibility, feeling terribly alone and unprepared. Now he felt like he was a part of something huge, and he’d _done_ it – he and Dean really _had_ saved the galaxy and Sam really was the last Jedi and _he’d done it_ and it was over, it was really over…

Jo clasped Sam’s and Dean came up on his other side and looped an arm over his shoulders. Dean tugged Bela close and together with Bobby and Ree, they made their way through the jubilant mass.

 

~

 

The celebrations lasted well into the night.

There were bonfires scattered around outside the base, surrounded by people. Anyone who could play an instrument either had one or made one from whatever they could find, until the corridors inside, and the jungle and ruins outside, were ringing with dozens of different songs.

All the bottles of rare and special alcohol that people had stored away for a rainy day were out and shared. There were drinks and food all over, and Dean honestly had no idea where it all kept coming from. He didn’t care to find out. He was far too busy enjoying himself.

He danced with Bela, which was amazing because he didn’t dance and it was _Bela._ He laughed and told stories and was implored to recount the battle a hundred times or more – he lost count somewhere around midnight. He drank but wasn’t drunk; he flew high on the euphoria. All the laughter and joy around him didn’t dampen for hours.

_They were free._

Anna told them that the news about the Death Star had traveled far and wide fast. She’d heard back from a number of Rebel holdouts and outposts, and learned that there were colossal celebrations going on almost everywhere. From Coruscant to Utapau, from Tatooine to Cadinth, from Endor to Baros and everywhere in between, beings were dancing in the streets and crying out in joy. There were fireworks and parties, statues of the Emperor were being torn down, Imperial buildings emptied and torched.

Gabe reported happily that his city had kicked out Imperial control. He’d instructed that all the food and booze in Cloud City’s stores be on the house. The whole Empire falling thing was “kind of a big deal”, he said.

Sometime around two or three in the morning, Anna came through the crowds and clasped Dean’s hand gently. She drew him away from the celebration and he felt a dent in the haze of his happiness at the look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry to have to…” Anna sighed. “I don’t want to spoil… all of this.”

Dean gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Go ahead, it’s okay.”

Reassured, Anna took a deep breath before she continued, “We received a coffin from Gadreel. He was ordered to clean things up, and he used secure channels to ensure we received Castiel’s body so we could give him a proper burial.”

Like air going out of a balloon, Dean felt the joy he’d been revelling in dissipate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t given a thought to the lives that had been lost – he’d remembered them often throughout the night, and someone inevitably was always toasting to the friends and loved ones missing. It had been in celebration, however, toasting to their memory and bravery and sacrifice, fond stories and plenty of laughter book-ending moments of sadness.

He knew he’d have to feel the grief at some point, but he didn’t have to feel it _then_. Not when Sam talked about how Cas had put him through the paces on Dagobah or when Jo spoke of Ash’s genius side and contrary country boy side. Not when Dean was telling the others about pranks on Adam and drinks with Benny and long talks about life with Jody.

Burying his best friend’s body made ‘later’ happen right now, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with it.

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, uh… okay.” He looked down at the drink in his hand and couldn’t bear to take another sip.

Sam must’ve noticed something was up. He left Bobby’s tales of adventures on Tatooine to come stand by Dean and Anna at the darkened treeline. Then again, maybe he’d simply heard all those stories before, Dean thought.

“What’s going on?” he said when he reached Dean.

Anna laid her hand briefly on Sam’s arm and gave him a soft, sympathetic smile before she drifted back to the people encircling the bonfire. Dean cleared his throat and blinked against the moisture gathering in his eyes.

“They found Cas,” he croaked.

Sam’s expression relaxed into one of understanding. “I’ll get Jo and Bobby.”

 

[~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJ5M7w7Z180)

 

The four of them carried the coffin farther out into the jungle, away from all the joy and merriment. There would be an official memorial service in the coming days to honor all those who’d lost their lives in service of the Alliance, but this one was just for them. Dean felt every step of that walk, terribly conscious of the weight he was carrying, of the hard ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs.

They walked until they found a clearing – “And look,” said Jo, pointing up. “You can see the stars.”

Dean and Jo gathered firewood while Sam and Bobby built a pyre. They laid the unremarkable box atop the pile and then lit the fire. The four of them stood back to watch it burn. Dean shoved his shaking hands in his pockets. He’d always hated the smell of smoke.

“I feel like…” Sam began hesitantly. “I feel like we ought to say something before we… you know.”

Jo nodded and clasped Sam’s hand for support. In his pockets, Dean made fists until he could dig his nails into his palms. He could do this, he could do this, he could make it through this… Bobby removed his beat-up ball cap and held it over his heart.

“While I was on Dagobah, he said… he told me about his past,” Sam said. “How he’d run for his life when Order 66 came down and he was trying to make up for that – for hiding, and giving up on the Force and everything. He wanted to be a Jedi worthy of the name again, but I don’t think he believed he could be.”

The flames licked at the coffin and as Sam spoke, Dean’s vision began to blur with hot tears until he was staring at a vague black, red, and orange blur. He tried to focus on breathing.

“He was, though,” said Sam, his voice trembling with emotion. “He _was_ worthy, and then some. He was my Jedi Master and he trained me – I only wish we’d had more time. I could never have even had a _chance_ at fighting Azazel without him. And I never…”

Sam dragged in a shuddering breath and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. Dean blinked and tears slid down his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. He just kept staring at the burning coffin.

“I couldn’t have made it through the battle today without him. I felt him, here,” Sam patted his chest. “In the Force, all around me. I heard him and… I couldn’t have done it without him.”

Bobby nodded solemnly, his gaze trained on the roaring fire. Jo rubbed Sam’s back comfortingly as he wiped at his eyes again.

Dean swallowed, trying to get around the lump in his throat so he could speak too – he wasn’t sure he was able, but it didn’t seem right not to.

“He was my best friend,” he finally managed. “Never let me give up. And I miss him like hell.”

Dean glanced down at his feet and pressed his nails harder into his palms. God, this was hard. With a shaky breath, he looked back up at the fire. For a small moment, he forgot the others were there.

“I’ve kind of gotten used to thinking you were dead when you weren’t, Cas,” he murmured, blinking rapidly. “It’d uh… it’d be nice to be wrong again.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, he knew this one was real – this was tangible, one hundred percent. But he could still irrationally hope. Dean let his tears fall. He jumped when he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t pull away. Just watched the fire flicker and snap and tried ignore the consuming ache in his chest.

After a while, Bobby and Jo left them, though Dean couldn’t be sure when they’d left. He and Sam stayed, standing silently together, until the fire had burned down to embers.

 

[~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=248ggPoK158)

 

Situated away from the base out in the jungle was a large decaying temple the Rebels had outfitted into an expansive assembly room. Vines ran through and around many of the cracked stone walls, and sunlight filtered through crumbling spaces that were once windows. When Dean stepped through the doorway into the main area, the sight of the temple’s interior wasn’t what took his breath away.

It was seeing hundreds of people gathered in long rows, filling up every nook and cranny. It was recognizing people he’d fought side by side with for years and knowing it had all come down to this. It was looking down the long aisle to the platform at the back of the room where Anna stood, draped in a gorgeous flowing white dress. Behind her, seated in a neat line, were the other pilots who’d survived the Death Star mission.

He exhaled shakily.

“Well, I can certainly see why you enjoy playing the hero,” Bela murmured on his left. “And here I thought it was because you actually cared for the greater good,” she added with a smirk.

“Try not to completely ruin the moment,” he grumbled.

At the far end of the room, Anna inclined her head. Some loud trumpets started and Dean felt his heartrate kick up a notch. It felt so strange to him to be getting this kind of attention, and even more weird when he thought about the fact that the Empire was finally crumbling. He’d fought and fought for so long, for most of his life – it was too incredible to wrap his brain around the idea that it was finally, essentially _over_.

He squirmed as all eyes turned to him and the others at the back of the room. Couldn’t Anna have just said “good job” in the hallway or something? He didn’t deserve this freaking assembly and ceremony. He glanced at Sam for support, feeling nervous.

Sam raised his eyebrows and offered Dean a wobbly but encouraging smile and Dean almost laughed. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable with this whole thing.

Ree, on Bela’s other side, was the first to take a hesitant step forward, and then the four of them fell in line with her as they walked down the aisle to Anna. Dean kept his gaze trained on Anna and ignored his sweating palms as all the eyes in the room followed them across the room. The foursome came to a stop at the bottom of Anna’s platform. Between her smile, pale skin, and white dress, it seemed like she was glowing. Her red hair was braided up into a knot at the back of her head. She nodded at each of them in turn.

A Rebel officer stepped forward with a velvet-lined box. Anna reached for the first of the four shining gold medals and leaned down to loop it around Ree’s neck. Ree inclined her head in solemn thanks and Dean noticed that her brilliant eyes were shining more than usual.

Next, Anna laid a medal around Bela’s neck. Dean expected Bela would to gloat copiously about this honor later, but for the moment her cheeks flushed and she stiffened, averting her eyes, and twining her fingers together. She didn’t seem to know where to look and settled for staring over Anna’s shoulder.

Anna moved on to Sam next, who even standing a few steps below Anna on the platform, was almost as tall as she was. He bent forward to receive his medal, ducking his shaggy head low. He smiled when he straightened, a sort of shy smile like he wasn’t sure he really deserved this. Dean knew the feeling.

He was last, and felt a lump rise in his throat as he tipped his head and Anna slid the fabric over his head. Anna’s hand lingered and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The medal was heavy, but in a good way, lying against his chest as a physical reminder of his accomplishment. He couldn’t help thinking once again of everyone along the way who wasn’t here and he swallowed down the pang of grief. There would be time for that at the memorial – this was the time to celebrate what Sam, Dean, Bela, and Ree had done.

Anna gestured to the four of them, and they turned around to face the gathered members of the Rebel Alliance. A cheer went up from someone in the back and then the whole place erupted in a mass of applause, whooping, and whistling. Dean’s eyes sought out Bobby and Jo in the front row. Bobby whistled enthusiastically. Jo’s eyes were shining as she clapped and beamed at them. Gabe was on her other side, waggling his eyebrows and applauding with the rest.

Dean couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face and his chest filled with a lightness he’d never known. He turned to look at Sam and found a matching grin on his brother’s face.

“That wasn’t too bad, I guess… for a junker from Tatooine.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

Dean laughed. “Bitch.”

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's done._ I can't even believe it!! Maybe after almost two years living in this 'verse I can finally think about something else now...
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it! Any and all feedback is massively appreciated. :D
> 
> I made myself some cover art for inspiration like eight months back, but I didn't want to steal my artist's thunder, so I will be posting that separately later [edit: [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5221292)]. :) Also, for any interested parties, last year I wrote a oneshot (actual oneshot!) that is basically the opposite of this: a Star Wars SPN AU (where Luke and Leia are demon hunters searching for their father) [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2838293).


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